Pendulous
by The Mock Turtles
Summary: Takes place before the 'Turn Back the Pendulum' arch in Kubo's Manga. Urahara, Yoruichi, Kirio Hikifune the Gotei 13 Full Summary Inside.
1. Chapter 1

**S T O R Y : **Pendulous  
**C H A P T E R : **Chapter One  
**R A T I N G : **K+ this chapter.  
**P A I R I N G S :** None (in this chapter)  
**S U M M A R Y :** Turn Back the Pendulum to before Yoruichi's family promotion or Urahara's sudden climb to the top. They were only children then.  
Kirio Hikifune lived through it all. She watched the Princess of one of the Four Noble Houses grow into the Goddess of Flash while keeping an eye on a talented blonde who has been brushed aside as Yoruichi-sama's side-kick for most of his life.  
Did she know that nine years after her premotion that her successor would be the catalyst for Soul Society's future qualms?  
Like hell she did.  
**D I S C L A I M E R : **I am not Tite Kubo writing a piece to find out if it popular so I can put it in my award-winning manga, Bleach. I am painful tearing into his world and abusing the characters - s'all. Yes, and Kirio is a CANON-character. I didn't make her up, really.  
Heck, for all I know if Kubo decides to bring her out she is probably a withered ol' hag. This is just putting some imagination into what has been touched on in the manga.

* * *

_It was past nine._

He knew it was when it pushed his sore feet into his sandals and tied the band around his hakama, easing his frame into the worn fabric with the type of delicacy that _she_ hated.

_Take it slow_, he scolded as he arranged and collected himself, smoothing down wrinkles along his arms, plastering his clothed socks against the flexible floor of his shoes; attempting to mask the worry lines that formed under the clump of blonde hair.

It _had_ to be past nine.

A strange whine came to his throat as he exhaled a breath he did not realise he had been holding, sparked by the sight of the sun beaming through the gaps in his blinds and onto the dishevelled sheets of his futon. The scene made his stomach churn, his brow giving an involuntary twitch as a sign of what little resolve he could muster. It took all his willpower to turn elegantly on his heels, leaving his room with the bed in the state that it was with his chin tucked against his chest while his hands formed fists at their sides – almost in preparation for a preeminent blow.

But he walked, and he listened - listened to the servants pacing, busying themselves with cleaning with a few thumping around on the upper floors; the clink of ceramic resonating down from the kitchen while chef prepared breakfast. The thought of food quickened his pace, images of bowl after bowl stretched across a table – Mondays in the living room, unless it was commanded otherwise. His mouth was flooded with spit and he swallowed it thickly, pushing past his desire for a warm meal when he thought of the time.

_It was past nine. _

_He was late again._

And he would be punished, _again_.

It took him minutes to muster his determination and seconds to destroy, sending him bounding down the corridors, dodging the odd maid who crept out of the rooms that lined his path, finishing a half-arsed apology to one before repeating it to the next person who blocked his way. The screen doors were a blur behind his flowing hair and the flutter of sleeves from his hakama. Pit-pat, pit-pat went his sandals on the expensive floor, deafened by the rhythmic breathing that was hitched in his chest, burning his throat which became dry.  
He closed in on the entrance to the living room; to the twin white slides framed by the dark, lacquer wood he genuinely admired. There was no time for that now. He could hear the scrape of tupplewear on the table on the other side, the sound sapping at what pride he had left. His arms felt heavy, limp like wet noodles as he drew the partly only slide to one side, using both hands for the small effort of slamming the delicate entrance open.

Teal eyes were closed to block out the vision of a tanned fist darting towards him, his hands – sweating from clenching – already closed in front, beseeching.

"Yoruichi-san, I am sorry for being late... again," he said in one breath, creasing his forehead even more behind his flaxen locks. They were matted against the skin of his brow and cheeks and he hastily pushed them back with a hand when the feeling became irritating. Nonetheless, he didn't look up, rehearsing what he expected in his mind.  
  
She would groan, punch him – one that he would block, two if he was lucky – before aiming one smartly on his arm or stomach. _You sleep too much_, was typically her first string of words, or _the food is already cold_ – the main reason behind her anger. It was those few seconds on these mornings (one minute before nine was not late, one minute after was punishable) that the Lady Yoruichi was utterly terrifying. Bowed, he held his breath, every muscle tense in readiness for the sharp sting that could form on any part his mistress saw fit to hit. One hand twitched from its position, ready to defend his _jewels_ if necessary. After all... he knew it was past nine; the area and strength of the blow depended on how many minutes overtime he spent lounging in his room. He had to be prepared for the worse.

But there was nothing. He had been holding his breath for so long that he wheezed it out in a long sigh, and his muscle cramped in his stomach where he had anticipated Yoruichi to strike. The boy did not dare open his eyes to witness a surprise assault, preferring to reach out with his senses to try and detect her presence in the room. Someone was definitely there. He had heard the scrap of china before he entered and in this stillness, the buzz of the bees and the symphony of nature outside dissolved behind the apparentness that he was not alone.

It was the low chuckle that shook the blonde from his closure. Even before knowing who it was his cheeks were rouged with his embarrassment; his eyes, wide and enlivened to stare at the floor. Seconds passed and the discomfiture manifested into anger. He should have been able to sense this presence when now it was so perceptible. Not even the distance gave reason for his miscalculation – the only factor being that he was so whipped under Yoruichi that his talents to perceive those around him were rippled and distorted by his own fear. Fear was not acceptable – not for something so inconsequential.  
Unfortunately, not everyone understood his trail of thought or shared the knowledge of his humiliation. From the applause of girlish laughter he assumed he must have done something horrendously funny to receive such ovation. Again, he was torn between his anger and his embarrassment – but regardless of what he felt, his face was flushed so profusely that it could make a baboon's behind look pale.

However, it gave him the courage to glance up but to keep his gaze hidden behind his uncombed hair.

The room was dark, the curtains closed. He noticed that the windows to the terrace were open for the material would billow from time to time, letting light into the shadowed room and revealing the outline of the lone form in the centre. As a resident, the boy was used to end to end walls of open windows and drawn curtains so that every alcove and corner was vulnerable to light. Darkness at this time was unsettling and he had an urge to fling open the drapes. Nonetheless, the figure required his notice.

Behind the small, square tea cable the woman was poised – not the Lady Yoruichi he was expecting. The stranger's aura was new to his senses, tickling him with the alien touch of her reiatsu as if he was sampling a foreign flavour and saving it to memory.

First impressions would always be the lasting ones. A reiatsu is the map of one's person: an aura that does not change in content, even if it grows or develops, forever keeping a unique base that allows one to discriminate. He noticed her reiatsu before the contrast of the pale arm reaching out from under her sleeve as she held the cup; not the bronze complexion he was used to seeing. Yoruichi's short, plum-coloured hair was replaced, her sharp, golden eyes only visible in his mind's eye. He had 

grown so accustomed to her appearance that there was a feeling of loss and confusion when he did not wake to the sound of her voice, or watch her downing her morning tea and breakfast before their day long training. He stumbled on his words and was paralysed in a bend that had his lower back sore and stiff in minutes. Still, despite his discomfort, she laughed.

"My-my, Yoruichi-san does not like her friends being late, eh?" Her voice was laced with her laughter, making it hard for the blonde to make out much of what had been said. It had been his ambition to lip read rather than listen, however, the sight of the tea cup in her hand quivering from her chuckles demanded most of his attention. His eyes traced the flow of the warm auburn tea as it was swirled around the cup; his pupils narrowing whenever a wave of it seemed ready to flow over the tip, visible whenever the curtains flurried in the wind.

She did not seem to notice, her eyes shut in satisfaction.

"Don't worry - Yoruichi-san is not here. It seems she left just before I arrived which is just bad timing on my part."

There was a pause where she took the liberty to catch his gaze. He could not see her eyes – no colour or defined shape could be shown in such obscurity – but he felt them on him; cradling him in a long stare until he lowered them out of his own awkwardness, unsure whether the gesture was wise when you consider their lack of familiarity. Still, her comment sparked his interests and he spoke to ease his anxiety while he held her interest.

"Excuse me, ma'am, then how did you get in?"

It was a bold move on his part. After all, he had no idea who this person was and if she was able to infiltrate Shihōin Manor he was certain that one of the guards would have stopped her already. That or she was a beast of a machine set on an assassination, but that was a little farfetched - even his mind.

There was a pause; the ones you receive when something wrong or out of bounds has been said. The atmosphere was unmistakable, and it was then did he consider that this was another noble coming to visit Yoruichi; the most likely solution and the cause for this silence. The upper-class could be extremely picky about their titles. Judging by the silence he presumed this was the cause and waited for a formal introduction with his hands fixed at his side and sweat beading his upper-lip.

He cringed as he heard her nails rake the side of the tea cup; follow by a muffled slurp when the object was pressed to her mouth. She wetted her lips audibly and continued much to his relief.

"Oh, Tessai let me in this morning. I was fortune to see him when I did - Guards here are impossible to dissuade! I spent about twenty minutes trying to convince two gentlemen at the gate that I was not felon."

_Do you know who, Yoruichi-sama is?_ He thought wirily, positive that he could make out a smile on the woman's lips. She seemed pleased at this fact and he finally began to ease into their conversation with the notion that the Kidō Corps Vice-Captain was willing to let her by. In the end, it was his faith in Tessai's skills as a Demon Magic wielder that convinced him that she could not have forced her way into the estate.

He took a step back to leave.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt you, ma'am-" The noisy chink of china distracted him from his phrase. He looked up, sure that she must have broken something. The quiet that took over was meant to be the prelude to another awkward pause, but the guest took the initiative to stop before the air became painful once more.

"_Arararara_," she began through a chuckle, (he could tell it was a nervous one) shaking her head in refusal. "Call me, Hi-Uh..." She stumbled on her words and he cocked a brow suspiciously when he was not given an answer.

"Ma'am makes me feel... older." He did not want to believe that this was the case – he wanted to believe there was a less trivial reason for her to be called by something else – nonetheless, instinct had taught him by the sound of her voice, she was not joking; she did feel old.

"I'm Urahara Kisuke," he informed her politely and wished instantly he hadn't from the vehement stare he knew he was receiving.

"So you are the boy that is living with, Yoruichi-san?"

He did not enjoy being called a boy, but he nodded all the same.

"She has told me quite a few things about you, although I never managed to meet the infamous Urahara-kun in all the times I have come to this house."

"You've been here more than once?" he said without masking his surprise, finding it strange that he was not able to detect her reiatsu were she telling the truth.

The mistress gave an odd simper which she hid behind the rim of her cup. "Like I said before, I have an affinity for bad timing."

Now empty, the mug was placed onto the table, the thud stifled by the extended pinkie she used as a cushion, a feat that he would have to teach to Yoruichi when he had the chance.

"Please, take a seat. I don't think you've had breakfast and I wouldn't want chef's work to go to waste!"

Urahara wanted to reject her offer – he honestly did, but the moment his stomach gave a low grumble was the end of the discussion. He did not have enough pride within him to refuse the proposal when his body had already given him away. Still, the darkness was a lingering irritation and he looked desperately towards it, knowing that she would be able to read his expression.

"Do you really want to open the window?"

She had lost the gentleness of her voice, now whining a little in the same fashion that Yoruichi did when she tried to weasel her way out of one of his games. It was enough to stop him for sure – hearing a grown woman giving such an undignified protest to his actions. Luckily, she recognised it as well and waved a hand, turning her head away from the sight.

"Only a sliver, if you must," she mumbled grudgingly, "I have a splitting headache from the most unfortunate hobby."

_Sake._

He knew that was the answer and grinned inwardly. Of course, he was tempted to 'accidentally' draw the blinds rights across the window, but there too much undiscovered about the guest that it was too bold a move to make so early in their meeting. In the end, some light was better than no light and his spirits were lifted as the crack on the wooden floors grew larger and larger, stretching into the far corner of the room and growing in width until over half the table was covered in light. He cheekily tugged the string an inch lower, catching the wan-colour of the woman's arms and the black of her robes in the golden perimeter. The bridge of her nose was revealed for a second before she tucked her head back into what remained of the dark. He knew he had reached his limits, but was pleased that he could now easily make out her features in the shade even if they were not in full view of the sun. He seated himself opposite the woman quickly, paying more attention to organising the cushions for his behind than examining the guest.

"Are you comfortable?" she asked him mockingly.

"Hai! These pillows can-be-a-hassle!"

Finally, when he crossed his legs of the mountain of silk of plush padding, he gave the woman the attention she required. "Ma'-... Mrs... Miss? Is it alright if I knew your name?" he mumbled, eyes peering hard into the umbra to identify this masked marauder while he sat in full view of her.

"I don't exactly want to offend you by making you feel... aged..."

Those eyes he had felt focusing on him were now perceivable; vivid (like he imagined) jade with a thick ring around the iris and equally prominent pupils to match. Nonetheless, unlike Yoruichi they were gentle – or at least he interpreted it to be. His best friend always sported a look of such determination and ardour that it was rare that he had a glimpse of a peaceful stare. Despite this, there was inquisitiveness about her; he saw it in her firm gaze and the way her small lips were pouted, tight against each other so that lines marred the skin of her upper lip.

Her nose was crinkled at the bridge, petite and upturned to display the splatter of dark freckles that spanned across to her cheeks, dying out above the curve of her cheekbone.  
She was younger than he had allowed himself to believe – mid twenties he assumed. But he could still find the truth behind the declaration of her age. Her youthful features contrasted with her ill-kept appearance: while her hair was not streaked with grey, it was unkempt and frizzy – her chocolate locks ready to spill from the thin ribbon that held up her mane in a pony; so scruffily done that even as a boy he took notice. The fringe had to be cut. It had grown so long that it had lost its distinction for direction, some strands falling into her eyes while the rest made up a veil around her oval face, too short to be tied up.  
She voiced her name – Kirio, he made out by reading her lips as he studied the sight of the square teeth that lined her mouth. Urahara was too busy to catch anything else and stared shamelessly at the visitor.

Her untidiness was nothing – the bags beneath her eyes, forgotten, at the sight of the Shihakushou: the Shinigami uniform. Kisuke gaped.

"You are a _Shinigami_?" he interrupted in the middle of her story. He was certain that there was no mistaking the white undershirt beneath the black kimono; the precise, fitted cut to her lithe build could not be bought at any old store. It was a little unorthodox. Her _furi_ were the longest he had seen, passing beyond the reach of her fingers where the wide mouth had folded over. She had obviously adjusted to the ridiculous length and flipped and fluttered the excess fabric whenever she reached for the tea, though one hand was hidden from sight under the crease of the kimono's opening.

For a moment she was pleased, glancing down through the line of her lashes at the blonde who had called her bluff.

"Ara! I have been found out! It is very clever of you to have picked on that!"

It was not a real compliment. He would have to be deaf, blind and dumb if he could not distinguish a Shihakushou from a copycat living here in Seireitei. The only problematic feature was her reiatsu. Her hakudou was steady; the fluctuation of her spirit power being so minimal that Urahara resorted to leaning over the table to pick up a closer sample of Kirio's energy, which, like an obliging older-sister, allowed. He had his doubts, naturally. In spite of seeing her zanpakutou resting by her side within its ornate sheath, her appearance confused him to the point of disbelief. Living with someone as different from a noble as one would expect had failed to teach him that appearances and positions did not always correlate – especially with Shinigami. They always looked so orderly; even the drunken officials he had seen down in the town felt composed in comparison to an ordinary soul. He knew his thoughts were unjustified, but he was hopelessly infatuated with the prospect of becoming one of them; earning his place in Seireitei as an elite warrior. It was a goal he and Yoruichi were aiming to obtain.

He shook his head frantically, sending his hair bouncing from side to side.

"What squad are you from, Kirio-san?" he asked expectantly, both hands clamped around the thickness of the table, lifting him from his seat. Wide-eyed and bushy tail – that was what he was; a boy, despite his mental objections. Kirio could not resist and watched him begin to speculate as he knew he would. "Are you under Captain Kuchiki Ginrei of the 6th Division – or Captain Shunsui Kyōraku – or -"

"Maa-maa," Kirio butted in, overwhelmed – yet pleased – with the young boy's expansive knowledge regarding the current Captains and their Divisions. It was refreshing to see such a young, capable mind and she scratched her neck thoughtfully as she anticipated her next move. "I am not under any of those ol' men."

Urahara bowed his head in apology. "Gomen. I get carried away at times."

"There is no need to say sorry for being enthusiastic!" Kirio told him sternly. "It is wonderful that you know so much about the Gotei at your age." From the look she received, Kirio knew this was not the case. Kisuke pouted, rubbing the back of his neck as if he had something unbearable to admit. Kirio found that the matter was easy to interpret. "You are not as young as you look, ne?"

He gave a grin. "I'm not that much younger that Yoruichi-san, actually. I just have a baby face."

When she observed him closely it was foolish of her to consider him a child. He was growing well for his age; lanky and awkward as most boys were when they came to their growth spurts. It was that he had not grown into his face yet and retained a soft, cherub visage with plump cheeks and swollen, ruby lips. He would be handsome – she was sure of it and did not hesitate in telling him so.

Urahara was taken aback when he felt a weight on his head, followed by the ruffling sound of his hair as it slipped through Kirio's digits. Her fingers were cold, the palm worn; with the skin over each pad rough against his scalp. It might as well have been a man patting him on the head. He blushed, nonetheless when she leant over and tried to catch his gaze.

"You're a good-lookin' one – I can tell! And smart too! Yoruichi-san was pretty reliable when she spoke so highly about you!"

"About... me? Kisuke answered quietly, searching the woman's face for the signs of a lie inscribed on her skin. She was serious.

"Of course! Kisuke-kun, Yoruichi-san is very proud of your progress and expects great things. I have heard all about how you love to build and create – and she even touched on a few of your idea for the future that coincides with your dream of becoming a Shinigami." Kirio spoke as if she knew him for years; like a mother who was exceptionally proud of her son for doing well in class. It was the warmth that he felt whenever he blocked a sneak attack from Yoruichi, or impressed her with an idea that she had difficulty wrapping her head around. Her compliments were a condensed form and offered the same amount of satisfaction.

"Kirio...san?" He had already grown accustomed to the hand on his head and sank into his shoulders like a contented cat.

"Hmm?"

"Your name is Kirio-san, like Captain Hikifune Kirio, ne?"

The cold rush of air replaced the fingers caressing his scalp, and Kisuke watched as Kirio retracted her hand; her features contorted in an expression that was two-parts impressed, one-part expectant.

"So, you know about the Taichō?"

"Well... a little bit." His blush deepened and Kisuke stared at the table as an outlet for his embarrassment. "She's the Cap'n of my favourite Division!"

"You speak about these Captains as if you have never seen them," Kirio observed, finally showing her surprise.

"I think I have seen Captain Shunsui Kyōraku when we passed by the Eighth Division Headquarters."

She threw one hand over her eyes. "Yare-yare, that is not saying much, now is it? He is the most flamboyantly dressed man in all of Soul Society. If you have not seen him you have been hiding under a rock for your entire life."

"Heh, well living like a noble is pretty much the same thing." He thought she may have taken offense over the comment but her boisterous laughter erased his fears of being reprimanded. While she enjoyed herself, Kisuke took the opportunity to delve into the Shinigami's life. "Then... are you a member of Hikifune Taichō's Division?"

"I am... but... what makes you think that I am not Hikifune Kirio herself?" Unexpectedly, the one hand that had been idle within the folds of her kimono was made of useful. He had only a second to register the burst of white as her hand flashed from under the fabric before the fan was flipped open, hiding Kirio's features from view save for the eyes that peered over the lace of the fan's edge.

"I don't think you are," Kisuke said with as much confidence as he could muster. He hoped that Kirio had gone back to thinking about him as a mere child. It was preposterous to think that this woman was a Captain of a Division – and not just any division, his favourite one! However, Kirio's probing did not end there.

"How can you decide that with such resolve? You have never seen her before, have you?"

"Ano... well... no-" he replied stiffly, folding his arms over his lean chest.

"Then why are you so certain?"

He huffed, giving into her taunts. "Because you are not wearing a white haori with the rhombus 12 written on the back."

"So Ka?" she exclaimed, flicking her wrist so that her hair billowed back from her face before slamming the instrument shut with an audible snap. She nodded, and accepted defeat. "You are right. I haven't got one on, have I?"

It was the way she said it that made Kisuke doubt himself. Her eyes were heavy-lidded while she peered over his head, seeing beyond the manor with the same imperialness and poise he expected from a Shinigami. Her unkempt appearance melted away behind the stalwartness of her stare to the point where Kisuke was prepared to renounce his victory. Maybe he was wrong.

But there was no time for that.

Kirio drew back, her eyelids fluttering over her irises to clear the haze of thought from her gaze. A smile was etched on her lips.

"Yare-yare. She is late."

* * *

**T R A N S L A T I O N S :**

Arararara : oh my, my, my  
**Furi** : sleeves of the kimono after the armhole.  
**Hakudou** : changes/movements in reiatsu/spiritual energy  
**Maa-maa** : calm down/now, now  
**Gomen** : sorry  
**Hai** : yes  
**Gotei 13** : the 13 Divisions  
**Ne** : right?  
**Taicho** : Captain  
**Yare-yare** : well well  
**Ano** : Um.  
**So ka** : that right?

**A U T H O R ' S . N O T E :** 'Lo! -bashful-  
Yeah, this is my first Bleach fic (the first of a few to come hopefully). The idea sprang to mind after I read the Turn Back the Pendulum Series from the Bleach manga,  
to delve into the mindset of the only 'special division' characters mentioned in the manga.  
So this is all fictional really - not even speculation.  
I am just playing around with the tools Kubo gave us.  
Hope you enjoy it!  
R&R

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**S T O R Y : **Pendulous  
**C H A P T E R : **Chapter Two  
**R A T I N G : **K+ this chapter.  
**P A I R I N G S :** None (in this chapter)  
**S U M M A R Y :** Kisuke is sent on an errand which he is trying desperately hard to complete.  
The new Shinigami has pipped his interests though he cant put his finger on the cause. Kirio is not even a seeded member of a division, or so she says.  
But he cant shake this feeling. And generally, his feelings were never wrong.  
And with the arrival of another character, Kisuke hopes he can make it back in time before he misses all the action.  
**D I S C L A I M E R : **I am not Tite Kubo and I unfortunately, don't own any part of Bleach. All the characters mentioned here are his own.  
I am simply exploiting them.

* * *

Urahara was not sure how she did it. He didn't quite understand how she had managed to convince him. But he was here; jogging towards the kitchen – at the other end of the manor – at her request, with a heavy tea pot in hand and an empty cup held under his arm. There were maids everywhere, and while Kisuke was far from spoiled by his years living in these circumstances, he did not see the necessity in his departure. She could have easily called for one of the butlers to fetch a hot pot of tea, yet the responsibility fell on his shoulders.

His face darkened with worry. He hoped he had not done anything to upset her – in fact, he was sure he had not seen the Captain as happy as she had been in the few minutes after she admitted she was not a leader of a division – or even a seated officer. Nonetheless, she was a Shinigami and he would have to wait another year before he was accepted into the academy to begin his training for something she already achieved. She even looked pleased with his constant questioning and prying and answered him without giving the slightest indication that she was annoyed by his presence.

The blonde thought back to the image of her face, studying it for signs that he may have missed.  
All he could see was her smile, and the fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes which reminded him of paper that had been crumpled. He was undeniably interested in her as would any kid who aspired to follow in an idol's footsteps. She may not have been a Captain, but his priority now was simply to catch up with Yoruichi and pass the six year course to become part of the 12th Division. Who knows? By the time that happens this Kirio may well be seated in the Division – heck, Vice-Captain did not seem out of reach!

Was that the reason he nodded without question, and took the cup and pot when he was ordered? Perhaps. Only now when he thought about his decision did he think he was too quick to accept. It was too unanticipated that he was convinced there was something she was going to say or do during the time it took for him to get his tea. His footfalls became loud and he hurried down the corridors, purpose written across his fresh expression.

Back in the living room the visitor remained, glowering at the screen doors Kisuke had taken. She was motionless with both hands flat against the arch of her thighs, hidden beneath the excess fabric while she listened to the scuttling people around her, catching the call of the guards somewhere in the gardens. Kirio gave a coy simper, her eyes closing as she felt a sliver of reiatsu; fluctuating in short bursts until her senses could track it without fail.  
Then, behind her there was a thud followed by the whistle of wind which sent the curtains billows, drawing them back so that light flooded the room completely.

Yoruichi straightened her legs from the bend she had fallen into, stretching up to full height with an easy grace that concealed the long journey she took back to her home. She swiped at her brow, easing the few beads of sweat that had formed. She was shocked to see that she had perspired at all and gave a low tut.

"I need some more training, eh?" was her grunt of disappointment which dissolved behind her exceptional capacity to stand up to any challenge. Ruffling her hair in boredom she stopped when she heard a soft whimper, turning round to face the centre of the room where the sound came from. Her brows were knitted and her upper lip curled at the corner when she saw a figure hunched over the table. She did not approach with the same hesitance that Urahara employed with strangers. Rather, she strutted over, a hand on the bulge of her hip while she loitered. Her reiatsu was unmistakeable when she got so close to the huddled Shinigami, but her astonishment blurred her sharp senses and she could not bring herself to voice the woman's name. It was well enough considering Kirio had something to say first.  


"Chows-eh-sertains," Kirio grunted into the table. Her face was pressed into her folded arms with her hair fanning itself around her like the leaves of a wilting house-plant.

"Eh?"

She tried again. "The-hindoes!" This time, she spared a hand, gesturing towards the terrace which was in full view to the Lady Yoruichi. Instantly she understood and sauntered over to the 'hindoes' as she had been requested, drawing one so that only half the room was lit.

It was then that Kirio raised her head from the table, peering through slitted eyes at the form of Yoruichi perched by the window. She was an ethereal sight with the light seeping around her body, lighting her violet hair and forcing her cat-like orbs to gleam and shimmer when their gazes met.  
Unlike Urahara, Yoruichi appeared older than her years; a teenager on the brink of womanhood she had already grown into her long legs and Amazonian build. It had been a few years since she had seen the aristocrat so the changes that had taken place were subtle, but prominent in her eyes. Her skin was an even richer shade of brown; mocha and taught around her bare arms and narrow abdomen so that it clung to her slender muscles. Yoruichi had cut her hair, she noticed, forcing her to frown when at last her inspection came to a close.

Although it was a shock to the system, Yoruichi spoke out of turn to suit her confusion.

"Kirio-san? What are you doing here?"

The glance she received – that sidelong stare – so apathetic and knowing was enough to bring a sigh to her lips. Kirio did not need to do anything more; she knew what she had done wrong.

Yoruichi in turn, lowered her line of sight to the floor – not out of embarrassment, but out of the same humility that Kisuke showed her. It was a brief moment when she tucked her chin to her chest and her confident stance faltered. Kirio smiled knowingly and drummed her fingers, waiting for the apology.

"I am late, arn't I?" she said after a pause.

Kirio nodded.

"Luckily for you, however, I do not beat my friends if they happened to miss an appointment." Gone was the fearsome glare from her eyes when Yoruichi looked up, seeing a comical Kirio squinting into the light with a grimace pulling at her lips.  
"Yoruichi-san, please step away from the light," she told her, bringing her trusted fan to shield her features. "I can feel my eyes rolling into the back of my head already!"

With that, Yoruichi returned to speaking in her usual jovial tones, smirking coolly when she made her way over to the 12th Division member to take the seat next to her.

"Warui-na, Kirio-san – I did not notice you were so tired. You look... rejuvenated."

That was far from the truth. Both of them knew that, nonetheless, Kirio was glad the girl had not lost her sense of humour; even if it was at the expense of her tired body and aching head. She gave a hollow laugh when she removed the fan from her face.  


"I am glad Yoruichi-hime is able to make fun of her servant," she answered, using her title to irk the bronze beauty.

She responded with the same technique. "But I meant every word, Hikifune Taichō!" The woman in question yielded before Yoruichi had gotten through half her name.

"Oi, there is no need to call me that... it makes me feel old, you know."

"Gomenasai." Thinking back to what Kirio said, the noble countered her visitor's earlier accusation.

"I assume you have met Urahara Kisuke, eh? She added quickly, "Was he late for breakfast again?" with extra venom in her sentence when she assumed Kisuke must have run into Kirio after sleeping in this morning; when they were meant to be training. It was irrelevant whether she was here or not – it was Kisuke's tardiness that erased all other thoughts on the matter.

Kirio waved her down with her closed fan, tapping the girl on the head like one would do a growling puppy.

"He arrived just before nine, actually. But he was so flustered that I did not have the heart to tell him he was early – boy was determined and all."

She stopped herself before she could continue, pressing back her fringe with a spare hand.

"Now, before we get into that, I wanted to know where you were this morning, Yoruichi. You know it is hard enough making time to see you – I have the Shiba clan to visit - you know how long it takes to organise those three - as well as Kuchiki, so-"

Yoruichi had one weakness. Kirio did not even know if she recognised it herself, but she had come to be able to tell when the princess had something to disguise. It was generally childish things that she had difficulty hiding so there was no real chink in her armour, you might say. Nonetheless, her eyes were narrow with disquiet, playing the role of the concerned guardian. It had the desired effect she wanted, and she caught Yoruichi clench her fist around something – something that Kirio did not notice she had been holding in the first place.

"What have you got there, Yoruichi-sama?" she cooed, cocking a brow at the young royal.

"Yare-yare, Taicho... it is nothing important."

"But it is the reason for your delay, ne?"

Yoruichi folded and recited the story. "It is not anything special – I just went to see, Little Byakuya-"

"Kuchiki-kun."

"-And Ginrei-kun-"

"Kuchiki Taicho," Kirio interrupted once more in the unchanged monotone voice, correcting Yoruichi's indifference for titles when others were concerned. It was futile teaching the headstrong girl these 

lessons when she herself was so partial to using first names, but she tried nevertheless.

"Hai-hai – anyway, I went to play onigoto with Little Byakuya for a while and sort of lost track of the time," she paused for a breath and tilted her head back onto her shoulders to stare at the ceiling, apparently lost in thought. "But he is surely bad-tempered – he just cannot lose to me at flash-step, though I have to admit, he has been getting better lately." She sighed and looked downcast. "Or maybe, _washi_ getting old and slowing up."

When she turned back to her Captain, she smiled innocently seeing the woman's forlorn expression and the vein that wanted to burst from her forehead. Her brow twitched.

"You didn't listen to me when I said you are making me feel old, am I right?" She brushed her humiliation aside as Yoruichi unfolded her hand, revealing a small white object cradled in her palm. Kirio recognised it to be the kenseikan that the Kuchikis were so partial at wearing. Rolling her head from side to side, the Captain gave a genuine sigh.

"My, my and here I thought I had left you on the right path to grow up into the little princess your parents expected. Washi... onigota," she cringed at the words. "Unless you are an old man, you are watashi – an old woman if you so wish to be elderly; and... onigota? Yoruichi-san, your okasan did not even call it that when we were children!"

She also made up her mind to comment on her appearance. "And your hair is so short now! You look beautiful with long hair," she exclaimed, saddened when Yoruichi snubbed the idea of re-growing her hair. "And your outfit!" Kirio gave her a one over, paying particular attention of the white hakama – the same style as the boys wore in the Shinigami academy.

"Kirio-san," Yoruichi whined, "It's more practical if I wear these things if I want to become a good Corps leader – and long hair gets in the way! Besides, you are not one to lecture, Kirio." She left it at that. She knew all about Kirio's love for sake and the woman's manly sense of humour. It was hypocritical that the Captain wanted her to become the typical princess when she herself was an advocate for a woman's right to be as determined and forth coming as their male counterparts. Heck, if she looked in the mirror she was sure that Kirio would be unable to deny it. Regardless of how she fretted about her age and waning 'appearance', Kirio would never have that feminine drive to fix her hair or tan her skin.

"Practicality is for boys, Yoruichi-san." Kirio replied simply.

Yoruichi was dismissive of all this information and placed the kenseikan on the table as if it was just another common item. "Either way, don't worry – I'll give it back, Kirio-san! But I have told you my part of the story – what about Urahara?"

Outside the screen doors, Kisuke pressed his ear against the entrance, picking out his name from the conversation. His breathing was still a little heavy, only arriving a few seconds ago after ditching his orders when he felt Yoruichi's presence so that he could run back the way he came. Although he had missed much of what had been said, he was sure that he would find out something interesting about the Shinigami and her reason for visiting his dear playmate.

_Right on schedule. _Kiriotilted her head ever so slightly towards the majestic doors; hiding her merry expression behind her fan while Yoruichi waited for an explanation. She gave it to her in the annoying fashion of short play-by-plays of events.  


"I met him."

"So ka..."

Silence.

"And?"

"And, Yoruichi?"

"Did you like him?"

"He is a bit young for me right now for me to decide that, Yoruichi!"

The sound of Yoruichi slapping a hand over her forehead reverberated around the room.

"Kirio-san," she whined again.

The brunette giggled, fanning herself. "Yes, yes, he was all you said he was and more. I was very glad to meet him."

The princess gloated over the comment, but paused to look around the room. "Speaking of which, where is Urahara?"

"Oh, I sent him to fetch me some tea just before you came, coincidentally. My affinity for bad timing, once again, rears its ugly head."

Yoruichi offered a wryly smile. There was no such thing as coincidence with, Kirio. Her declaration of 'bad timing' was always planned on her part as she had come to understand. Nonetheless, it was a little unnecessary to send the boy traipsing through the entire manor on a whim.

"Kirio-san, you have been here long enough to know where the kitchen is."

"Indeed I have."

"Then you are well-aware that it is located at the other end of this mansion."

She smiled.

"I thought you said you liked him!"

"I do, but there is nothing wrong asking the boy to fetch a new pot of tea for an old girl like me, is there?"

"We have servants for that, Kirio-san."

She did not make an effort to reply. The two of them sat in silence, letting the wordlessness of the setting sift into the atmosphere. Kisuke pressed himself closer with the notion that they were whispering plaguing his mind. It was good that the pause was the length of a breather because any 

longer and he could have torn through the screen with his weight against the frame. The blonde pursed his lips together as their voices erupted from the quiet; eyes sheathed behind his veil of flaxen locks.

He made out Yoruichi's voice.

"Kirio, I have been meaning to ask you..."

"Hmm?"

"Where is your haori? I thought Captains were now forbidden to wander The Court of Pure Souls without being fully clothed."

"Ah, you know that I am not one to follow rules, Yoruichi-san. It is too hot to wear that thing anyway." Kirio was known for her creative attire; of the impractical length of her kimono which was rarely tied in the right way, or the different styles of her hair which could only be seen as a burden no matter what she did. Perhaps her most distinguishing trait was that she never wore shoes. Even now, Yoruichi spared a glance towards her feet which were only clothed with her white socks – expecting nothing less from the Captain. There was no reason for her wandering the streets without her sandals, except for it being her own preference; that they got in the way of comfortably walking.

However, it was not Kirio's 'rebellious' nature that kept her from wearing the haori as she had proclaimed. This was a fact.

"So, why aren't you wearing it? Yoruichi asked, patiently awaiting the true cause.

Kirio looked ready to object – her lips parted, tongue clicking uselessly inside her mouth – but she ended up giving a sheepish smile, tittering under her breath.

"Eh... it's unclean, so I left if back at headquarters."

"Does it smell that much of sake?"

"Oi, oi, you are making me sound like a drunk, Yoruichi-sama," she objected with a pout. "It was the chemicals, actually. I'll probably have to have the outfit redone." This was common. Kirio never understood the regulations for hair being tied back or all loose clothing to be removed in the Science Division. With her long sleeves it was a wonder that she had not caught fire while she was working.

"So what are you doing until it is remade?"

"Enjoying being anonymous I guess," she said, scratching the side of her cheek thoughtfully. "It is amazing how everyone knows you just from your haori. I have only met one person today who has been able to identify me – and it happened to be Vice-Captain Tessai! You lose your identity by just getting rid of that silly pull-over." She did not appear mad; more amused by the fact that a Captain's face could be so easily forgotten. "And when you disguise your reiatsu, you disappear from the world completely. Even you had difficulty accepting me without my haori."

She nodded.

"And did Kisuke realise that you were the 12th Division's Captain, Taicho Hikifune?"  


Kirio shrugged and twisted her head slyly towards the door frame, giving a curt nod.

"You can ask him yourself. I have to be off before I unintentionally arrive late for my meeting."

Yoruichi was confused, but when she followed Kirio's instructions she was instantly updated. Colour flushed to her cheeks when she saw the silhouette outline plastered along the screen door, her eyes sending daggers in his direction which he must have sensed, for he began to backtrack from his space. She would have been on him in a second had she not been interrupted by the Captain who picked up her zanpakutou and ambled lazily towards the terrace, groaning while she headed towards the light.

"You are leaving already?"

She smiled, rolling her nape towards her so that she caught Yoruichi in the corner of her eye. "I think my work here is done. Don't worry though; I'll be keeping an eye on you to see how you are faring. Even if you don't see me, I am always around."

She responded with a curt nod. But there was something on the Captain's mind. Kirio did not move from her spot, but her face was unreadable now that she had turned to face the light, and her stance straightened somewhat as if she had just been stricken.

"Kirio-san?"

"Look out for Urahara, Yoruichi. He's going to be something special..." The woman paused for an airy laugh and stared confidently out into the terrace. "I am sure of it."

* * *

**T R A N S L A T I O N**

**Taichō :** captain  
**Oi :** hey  
**Gomenasai :** sorry  
**Onigoto :** obsolete word for tag  
**Hai :** Yes  
**Washi :** I am (old men use it to describe themselves)  
**Kenseikan :** expensive hair piece worn by nobility  
**Okasan :** your mother  
**Watashi :** I am (for women)  
**Warui-na** : my bad

* * *

**A U T H O R 'S . N O T E S : **Thanks for all the faves, PMs and reviews!  
I am glad I have not been told to just stop abusing the wonderful world of Bleach - at least, not yet! xD  
I also wanted to add if anyone has any qualms, is confused or whatever the problem that you can ask me whatever by sending me a PM. Ish is not scary. 3  
Oh and I don't... proof read my work that much so apologies for this. I know there are probably tons of errors but I can only write from like 9PM to 4 in the morning. I generally end up 're-reading'  
when my brain has really stopped working. So just warning in advance! )


	3. Chapter 3

**S T O R Y : **Pendulous  
**C H A P T E R : **Chapter Three  
**R A T I N G : **K+ this chapter.  
**P A I R I N G S :** None (in this chapter)  
**S U M M A R Y :** Kirio Hikifune.  
**D I S C L A I M E R : Yare-yare. **I am not Kubo Tite. Though I love the man, I am not going to pass myself off as him.

* * *

"A Captain!" Urahara was clutching his hair, threatening to pull chunks from his scalp. "How could I not figure out she was a Captain – _the_ Hikifune Taichō!" His bony feet splattered on the wooden floors with the enervated sound you would expect to hear from a drunk clamouring his way down a cobblestone street in wooden-geta. Combined with the scratch and rasp of Yoruichi's chopsticks slicing through the morning's breakfast, the room was filled with the racket from the two teenagers.

"Kisuke, you really should not get so worked up about this," Yoruichi mumbled through a mouthful of dangos, reiterating the phrase for the umpteenth time for what was the better half an hour. She hoped another few repeats and the blonde would finally settle down from his breakdown. If not, a show of her physical superiority was not beneath the princess. "After-all, Kirio-san was not wearing her haori – she could have been-"

"I should have known!" Urahara thundered on, the determination on his face from anger erased from every pore and cleft when Yoruichi's frightening gaze trapped him in a web of submission, forcing the breath from his lungs and the words to die on his tongue.

"_As I was saying_," she began, hating the interruption, "Kirio would not think any less of you if you did not know who she was. She must be the first Captain you have met face to face."

Prying himself from his steady pace, he looked hopelessly towards Yoruichi, biting his lower lip till it was swollen and red from his ministrations. His pleading expression gave her that momentary jolt of guilt for having snapped at the innocent boy. She rolled her eyes and extended her dirty chopsticks towards him as a gesture for him to speak – which was exactly what he was beseeching with his puppy-dog stare.

As if all there was between his words was his lips locked with Yoruichi's glower, his verbal thoughts flowed out of him like water through opened flood gates when he was given permission. It was enough to make the calm aristocrat recoil from her apathetic facade.

"I should, should, should have known!" He went on to parrot the slogan with the same intensity that Yoruichi experienced when her playmate burst through the screen doors just as Kirio flash-stepped from the terrace – unsure if he wanted to catch her or to arrive just in time to miss her in a fashion that reminded the noble of the Captain's own antics. He was pink with embarrassment; torn between bowing to Yoruichi for eavesdropping on her 'private' tête-à-tête and reaching out for something he was not sure he could reach, like a dog chasing after a car; not sure what he would do if he actually caught one.

That was over an hour ago and he was still here repeating his worries like a broken record.  
Still, she did not expect anything less from Urahara. He was a perfectionist in his own way. While she trained intensively if she was not adequate or wronged, the boy made it a habit to bellyache for a time before taking action. After all, it was not that every day that Urahara was mistaken; he had to accept loss before he would progress to a level that befitted a man of his stature – or so Kirio told her when Yoruichi had initially brought her friend into their conversations. She just wished his whining involved... well, less whining. She shook herself on a musing on focused on the raging Kisuke who was waving his hands in a flamboyant fashion that Kirio would be proud of. His little chirps of complaints reached her ears with the same reception of nails on a chalkboard.

"... was I that blind to pick up her aura? A Captain's aura is indistinguishable – or so I have been told 

– so why wasn't that enough for me to pick up on?"

The squeak of chopsticks on ceramic ensued. "She disguised it completely. Even I didn't pick it up," Yoruichi started, preparing for the onslaught of doubts that required reassurance.

"She said she had also been here before – why did I never pick up on her presence?"

"Because she didn't want to disturb you. If a Captain does not want to be found, it's game over."

"The Captain even told me her name was Kirio! How could I not figure it out?"

"Well..." Yoruichi was a loss of words and had to stop eating to concentrate on the answer. She gave a shrug of defeat and within a beat, returned to her food like it was the last scrap of meat on earth. "That's just you being stupid I suppose. We all have our moments."

"Mine just come at the worse times," Urahara announced with a sulk. Finally, the second phase was complete – and Yoruichi waited for the 'time of consolation' before 'acceptance', which meant more talking, but less nonsensical rambling. _Bring it on._

"She was not wearing her haori... which is the tell-tale, trademark, label, brand image, emblem, heart and soul of-"

"Kisuke, focus," Yoruichi butted in without pausing the train of food entering her mouth.

He flapped his hands in a mix of appreciation and dismissal which made the corners of her mouth turn in a smile from his indecisiveness.

"But you get what I mean. It is like trying to identify a soldier amid a troop of platoons, a needle in a haystack a-"

The warning glance was all he needed.

He closed his eyes to escape her menacing stare before he fell to his knees begging for forgiveness from the bronze goddess. It took a few minutes, but he could feel his confidence returning to him. It was like a rush of hope to his limbs and soon, he was moving towards Yoruichi and plopping himself before her to watch her eat; retain a closeness that signified the end of his inner turmoil. He lurched forward, hoping to spike a dumpling from one of the bowls. Naturally, Yoruichi was a head of the game and snapped then up one by one.

He remembered he was late this morning and his punishment proceeded.

"She is different, ne?" he commented, more to himself than anything. His cheeks still possessed a rosy hue; like he had been caught out in the sun for too long. Complimented by his soft golden hair and full lips, he retained an air of innocence that could put a child to shame. By the way Yoruichi was watching him he guessed his own appearance and quickly rubbed his cheeks in hopes of expunging his flushed appearance – maybe it was embarrassment... or awe? A combination of the two bringing colour to his wan complexion?

_Whatever_, he moped, casting his fiery gaze on the floor for a minute before he felt himself cool off. It was back to his jovial self by the time he looked up; his eyes pressed into the mounds of his plump 

cheeks, disappearing between the two rolls of flesh when he gave a grin. It was comical that his face retained so much fat when his body was already lean and long; half teenager, half baby it seemed.  
Yoruichi was not able to criticize his appearance at the time. Her cheeks stuffed with food, they bulged, sagging with the weight. There was a lethargy plastered on her features like an animal that had fed too much. She was so indulgent that she forgot about that air of superiority she was meant to retain; what Kirio spoke so heatedly about. Eyes lidded, lips speckled with crumbs, Kisuke had the right to wonder whether the Shihōin House was in good hands. He held back his laughter while Yoruichi consoled him with as much assertiveness as a cat could muster before an afternoon nap. He wondered deprecatingly whether Yoruichi's 'alter-ego' had a role in shaping her personality.

"A breed of her own."

"She doesn't wear shoes; she looks like a wreck... what is she?"

The girl gave a shrug. "A Captain, I suppose."

"Is she allowed to look so..." he gave a low breath, weaving his words into the sound, "messy?"

"I don't know, but I think she has worked hard enough to earn herself some privileges."

For the first time, Yoruichi appeared more alert, putting effort into her words. It had Urahara edging closer instantly like a kid waiting for the pinnacle of his bedtime story. Fingers tightened around the edge of the table, propelling him forward until the wood was pressed against his chest, feet knocking hers beneath the surface.

"What do you mean, Yoruichi-san?" he inquired with the same cheery attitude he would be known for later in life. While it was difficult maintaining this good-humoured all the time, he was slowly mastering the technique, putting it to 'good use' as Yoruichi had hoped. While he could seem bothered at times, he had learned that being stoic was the means to go about emotion; whether it be frustration, anger, disappointment or fear. All of it could be masked with an apathetic disguise.  
He could not do that and had to compensate with whatever he had. Being jovial was more fun after all; it always left a lasting impression, and the carefree smile left people guessing. Even Yoruichi with her skills had a hard time finding fault with this form of masquerade – despite her early protests – and the right guesses into his mind set were becoming few and far between.

Now, he was using his cheerful tones to conceal his excitement.

She scoffed. "She has not noble background, no preceding Shinigami ancestry, no prodigal powers – nothing."

Urahara cocked his head to the side, confused. He was expecting the girl to sing Kirio's praises, not make out to be that she was a nobody amid the realm of talented Shinigami.  
However, the insults didn't end there.

"She even failed to get into the academy on the first two exams – and then had to complete the entire six years when most of the Captains manage in half the time."  
Her 'matter of factly' speech did nothing to boost her reputation as a woman detached from her Noble title. The bored roll of her eyes and scoffing tone forced the vein on Urahara's brow to throb annoyingly; his eyes squinting from hearing Yoruichi speak like any other girl from a rich family background. He feigned a hoarse laugh, reminding himself that Yoruichi was not used to the trials and tribulations that most Shinigami had to go through. He would be surprised if she had taken the entrance exam because of her last name. But he became distracted before his musing could take off.

Her eyes were suddenly closed in consideration as she finally pushed the empty bowls from reach. It reminded Urahara of the times where Yoruichi couldn't understand one of his farfetched ideas, lost in translation when he explained his dreams and visions to the level-headed aristocrat.

"Then... how?" he asked. "How does someone like that become a Captain?" He knew he sounded envious; that his voice was a pitch higher than it should be, but Yoruichi's criticism fuelled his hope to the point where he could not contain himself. He sat upright, barely placing any weight onto his calves which were curled under him. At a time like this, it was just like the purple-haired minx to find anything to entertain her; even if it was the saucy remains lying at the bottom of her bowl. She stirred her chopstick in the mix experimentally before looking up at Kisuke with a scowl.

"How do you think, baka?"

"Eh?"

"Just like you will – by working hard with relentless pursuit!"

He dropped his sights down at his hands already, the skin hard from their intense exercise and, from building their training lair Sōkyoku hill. Did he really have to work more than he was doing now? Yoruichi found it so easy. Already into her first year at the academy – an eon of difference in skill it seemed – the Shihōin heiress was a legend; perfecting her skills at shunpo and fascinating teachers with her abilities across the board – and she was not even a senior yet! The boy's stomach churned at the thought of having to live up to her reputation; the lucky kid who was staying at the Noble's home. He loved fighting, despite the aching limbs and stiff muscles that came with it. It was fun. But he knew what people would think of him; a spoilt, lucky sod who was scored when he met Yoruichi and was taken in.

As if reading his mind, the girl leant back on her slender arms, glancing down at Urahara through her frame of lashes; taking in his deliciously innocent expression – hands intertwined on his lap, lips in a pout – and the impossibility of his task weighing heavily on his shoulders.

"You probably have more natural talent then her; probably more that most of the current Shinigami trainees. Be thankful for that!"

And Yoruichi was not exaggerating. Urahara possessed a mentality that amazed her, and at times, was even a little too brilliant for his own good. In addition, he was a talented swordsman, completely at ease with his partner, Benehime and with her aid, on the road to becoming apt at hand-to-hand combat. With his natural flare for learning he would have a seat reserved for him on a squad; she was sure of it. Kirio saw this as well, and the woman's encouragement only furthered Yoruichi's desire to train Urahara until he was sick of the sight of her.

This support was not enough evidently. Kisuke frowned upon hearing his praises, wriggling his toes into the cushion out of discomfort. Her golden stare was unnerving, along with the mounting pressure she exerted with her honest opinion of him. The only way to remedy it was by talking about the Captain. Yoruichi saw no other alternative.

"She worked for the entirety of those six years. With absolutely no support – or so I've heard... no 

one thought that she would even pass. While she had talent, she lacked the potential to back it up and-"

Waving hands in front of a princess' way was not the key to success, but Urahara did it anyway. His frown was permanently etched on his lips, slate-grey eyes closed in contemplation. He did not care who you were or where you were from – Yoruichi-sama's words did not have a hint of reason behind them.

"Nani? You cannot have potential without talent and vice-versa."

She glowered, arguing her point. "Of course you can, boke."

"How?" Kisuke challenged with a sulk.

"No one thought she could do it. Unlike you and _I_, she had trouble with the basics. Then when it was upped in difficulty she sometimes outshined the rest though it was never for very long. She is very temperamental that way; she lacked the potential to further herself."

"So... she had talent... but lacked potential." The phrase was becoming clearer in his mind. Or perhaps he was sinking in intelligence. "No one believed she could do it?"

"Maybe make a Shinigami – after all, she had her moments, but to become anything more than a seated officer after years of experience? It was out of her reach."

Urahara was smiling again, Yoruichi noticed. Inside his clogs were reeling with her ability to tell a good story. It was a trait she secretly admired about herself. The fact that he had stopped wittering on between words was a promising sign also.

"Sōtaichō was well aware of this as well. After personally rearing two of the finest Captains the Gotei has ever had, Kirio would not have crossed his mind when he reviewed the reports on future Shinigami..."

Kisuke was lost at the mention 'Old Man Yama' founder of the Shinigami Academy and practically ruler of everything under the sun. While there was obvious respect for the Captain, Kisuke could not repress that look of fear when he pictured the leader of the 1st Division in his mind's eye; detailing him with all past references and stories he had collected over the years. The menacing stare, the indifferent facade and the knowledge that he wielded the most powerful zanpakutou was enough to cause a tremor to run along the length of Kisuke's arms. He eased the Goosebumps down with a brushing stroke.

"I thought he would only get involved when it came to Captains and their Vices?"

She shook her head. "Yamamoto-sama was the founder of the Academy, remember? His obligations stretch far into the running of the school as much as they do with the Gotei 13. Kirio was never the favourite, but after being dropped into the bottom class of every aspect of fighting, she began to train diligently on her own." Yoruichi took a pause to breath and to let the situation settle on Urahara. "Her zanjustsu," she continued, "was her biggest weakness." For training Shinigami, it was a one way ticket to the second class if your sword-skills were not phenomenal; a good grasp of the technique could save someone from a poor effort at kidō or a weak display of hakuda. Kisuke felt his heart sink at the proposal that Kirio suffered at the art of swordsmanship.  


"Chotto-matte, Kisuke, don't make such a face!" the woman admonished, flagging him down with a raised hand. "I didn't say she was rubbish at fighting, did I?"

"But you-"

"I said she had poor zanjustsu; that could mean anything! Her fighting was up to scratch but she had no relationship with her sword at all. It made it hard for her when everyone spent their days rearing their swords to become better fighters. After a time, she could not keep up."

"But to become a Captain you need to be practically perfect in each art – how can you improve so much?"

"Assiduousness." Yoruichi's happiness faltered, gaze dropping somewhat. "But, she went idle for many years before a Squad finally accepted her. Sōtaichō probably made it difficult considering she was not a perfect student during her years."

"Is that what she told you?"

"Well, she said she did not get along well with the Commander-General, so it is a logical judgment."

Urahara grimaced. "It cannot be easy then."

Yoruichi's indestructible determination wavered, forcing a silence to wedge itself between the two. Her lithe arms were limp against her supporting tighs which were splotched with bruises; blues, yellows and blacks painting her flesh like patchwork. It was not easy, she knew that; she knew that the moment she and Kisuke made a pact to train everyday to reach their goal to become members of the Gotei. Nonetheless, seeing herself in such a state – her thighs bulging with muscles, now littered with marks – something broke within her, chipping at her ironclad resolve. Fists were suddenly clenched, the veins swimming beneath the skin rising to make ridges along her narrow wrists.

"It impossible," she whispered, the admittance shocking Urahara back onto his calves, the support she built within him crumbling along with her. Yoruichi was so much weaker like this; fragile, beautiful and impossibly vulnerable. Without a defence, Kisuke saw her femininity sheltered beneath the rubble of her masculine air and demanding persona. She seemed embarrassed, huddled in a corner with her eyes lowered and chin tucked close to her chest. It was enough to tempt Kisuke to hold her; run his hands along her arms and press her up against him until she was smothered in comfort and support – a feat she had always saved for him. But it was that useless thinking that awoke Yoruichi from her musing. As if sensing his distress she hardened, sending a glare to the boy so he retreated back within himself; no longer concerned for her but for his own safety. Her sharp fangs glistened while her lips stretched into a threatening grin.

"That's what makes it interesting, ne?"

Kisuke nodded furiously, his gorge rising with the feel of Yoruichi's overwhelming presence. His back straightening to attention, gave a moan of protest – muscles tightening protectively when they saw what was coming – as if it had been stricken by Yoruichi's heated gaze. However, as much as he adored sharing the princess' beached moments, he could never deny the unmistakable allure of the confident woman; his friend, tutor and mentor.

"We'll get there, Kisuke," she promised boldly, propping both hands to their respective knees to press them into the floorboards. "And I'll be fun."

She was already up on her legs before he noticed; bruises forgotten, her strong legs stretching in anticipation as she took long strides towards the terrace much like Kirio had done. Already determination oozed from her every side; confidence radiating from her like a like when she cocked a head around with hand on the prominent arch of her hips. Kisuke stood to attention, ready to follow her to their secret base for the training that they had already delayed. But he stopped; uncertain about one final thing.

"Yoruichi-san?"

"Nani?"

"This all must have taken _years_, ne? So I was just wondering... how old is Hikifune-sama?"

Yoruichi gave a lopsided grin, reaching back to scratch at her nape. "Even I don't know that, but I would not go asking Kirio-san if you want to keep your head."

* * *

**T R A N S L A T I O N :**

**baka**: idiot  
**nani** : what  
**ne**: right?  
**sōtaichō**: general commander  
**zanjustsu**: sword fighting  
**chotto matte / chotto** : wait


	4. Chapter 4

**S T O R Y : **Pendulous  
**C H A P T E R : **Chapter Four  
**R A T I N G : **K+ this chapter.  
**P A I R I N G S :** None (in this chapter)  
**S U M M A R Y :** Its been a couple of years since the last chapter. The pendulum is swinging as it always has, but all good things must come to an end.  
**D I S C L A I M E R : **I am not Tite Kubo, h'okay? Kirio is not my character either, but she is made up in my mind. Who knows who the real Kirio Hikifune is!?

_It had gotten old._

Unfortunately, it really had.

The routine had lost its novelty; the ritual of heading over to the First Division's Head Quarters no more than an irritable arrangement that she could not avoid. She gritted her teeth and pushed forward.

The sight of the twin oak doors did little to ease her out of her strop. If anything, her footfalls became long and languid when the sight panned out before her, reminding the Captain of the precious time she has wasted hurrying to this place at the Commander's beck and call. It was silly of her to think this way, but when she thought of the bottle of warm sake going to waste in her room she could only fall back onto her irrational thoughts. No doubt this would be a meaningless meeting about the running of Soul Society in addition to a review of the Captains' progress with their divisions.

A quick natter which skirted around the ominous task of reviewing paperwork – that was all this was.

Kirio was so enveloped that she had failed to pay attention to her petite Vice-Captain hobbling beside her, trying to follow her slowing gait with no success.

"Taichō, don't you think it would be better if you used Shunpo?"

Hiyori murmured, unsure if it was wise to interrupt her Captain when she looked so distraught. The young Lieutenant had already been under her current leader for many years and her attachment to her made the task of learning the woman's expressions simple... most of the time. A hand darted up to her pigtails, fiddling with the red ribbon that bunched her short, blonde hair painfully against her scalp. Brown eyes dropped to focus on her Captain's feet as they peaked under her black kimono; the socks dark with dirt and soot from their walking. Despite her infamous temperamental personality, Hiyori gave an honest frown out of concern for the Shinigami beside her – as if the notion of the woman having to walk on the gravelly floor wounded her personally.

As always, regardless of the situation, Kirio eased her away from her disquiet with the same technique she always used: a smile that was too tight at the lips to be genuine and an affection pat on the head with the ruffles of her long-sleeved Shihakushou. She knew something was wrong, but secretly, Hiyori hoped that the Captain that she loved and served would tell her, her worries if they were anything above trivial. She gave Kirio an awkward grin, wrinkling her button nose in response while she focused on the gates ahead.

It was hard to believe everything was alright, but impossible to query someone she trusted so readily. That would mean questioning the foundations of their relationship, and Hiyori did not have the mental strength to go search for lies or secrets embedded within their bond. The child-like Shinigami would have to rely on faith alone.

"Oh Hiyori don't depend on Shunpo for everything," Kirio replied with a pout, shifting her gaze from her lieutenant to the blue skies above them. "You miss the splendours of this life when you move at such speeds."

Hiyori was hesitant, but he spoke her mind as Kirio had always requested of her.

"You really don't want to come to this meeting _that_ badly, Captain?

Kirio had twirled her long locks into a messy bun which had chocolate tendrils dripping into every curve and dip of her face, but even through her shroud of hair Hiyori could make out the beginnings of a blush on her cheeks. Kirio fanned her down with a flicked wrist beneath the mantle of her furi.

"Arararara, don't make it sound like it is so obvious, Sarugaki-chan," she moaned, her posture slouching further with the reminder of how little she desired being a Captain when such events arose. Her almond eyes were cased with dark rings from lack of sleep that no amount of cosmetics could disguise. Even a pimple – a pimple of all things – was forming somewhere near the corner of her nose! She did not need to be bothered with a meeting when her appearance was occupying every crevice of her thoughts. Still, she was too lazy to bother white-washing her face with powder or cream and reserved her annoyance for this abrupt meeting.  
The irksome idea of the Captain's gathering sent a chill pulsing down her spine and she alternated her gaze from the gates – so close, rolling upwards until they were disguised behind the clouds – to the pretty Vice-Captain and her penetrating stare. Despite their indolent strides, they reached the gate well within the time frame. They were also followed by another Captain.

He made a quiet entrance, but the stealth of his movements were ruined by his morning greeting as if he couldn't care less that a Captain and her Lieutenant could not detect his presence.

"'Lo Kirio! How ya doing 'dis mornin'?" Shinji said with a yawn, his broad teeth shining from under his narrow lips when he gave a smile to the Captain. His eyes were unusually calm in contrast to the menacing smile he offered to the two women; intimidating yet, strangely welcoming at the same time. Addressed, Kirio turned to face him, eyes closed in merriment when she recognised the voice of the fellow Taichō.

"Oh, Hirako-kun! I'm very well thank you and-"

Midway through her sentence, Kirio was forced to stop at the sound of spluttering and coughing, mingled with the resonance of a slap. She opened her eyes to see her Lieutenant in full glory over the shoulders of Shinji, one small hand wrapped around a bundle of his golden hair while the other was latched at the corner of his mouth, stretching his lips to the tip of his ear. The cry came from the Captain who was torn between throwing Hiyori with the bony fingers that curled round her calf, and saving his face in a tug-of-war game with his lips, which were moist with saliva and a trickle of blood. Already his skin was stained pink at the cheek; the imprint of Hiyori's sandals etched on his milky flesh. The older woman shook her head sadly, pressing her forehead into the cool cushion of her furi while the other flapped beside her, an indication to the two to cut the theatrics.

"Chotto, Hiyori-san! Stop before you tear poor Hirako-kun!"

"You, dipshit!" Hiyori thundered above Kirio's plea, "How dare you address Hikifune Taichō without a proper title!" Shinji could only groan in response nevertheless, there was definite threats admit his slurred vocabulary. Kirio had become so used to their ways and natures that she didn't try to intervene, and gave the pair their space while they battled it out; throwing curses while avoiding each other's finishing blows all the while. It was a wonder how the two of them had lasted so long without inflicting fatal damage. She gave a hopeless sigh and cradled her skull in the palm hidden beneath the sheets of her white haori and black kimono; silk on silk against her worn face.

She tensed when she felt her hair billow out around her; tendrils giving an anxious twitch above her line of sight as a breeze pushed her chocolate threads from her messy bun. But the three reiatsu were unmistakable. The whistle of wind died as two Captains and a Lieutenant entered the scene behind her; the strength of their shunpo movements elapsing into the current zephyr when they touched down.

"_Yare-yare_, they are at it again, ne, Ukitake-san?"

"It looks quite painful?" the other replied through a soft chuckle.

The third Shinigami only provided a feminine grunt to the conversation.

Twisting her nape around, the sight of Ukitake – lanky, white haired, but impossibly kind – Kyōraku – with straw hat pulled over his eyes – and Yadōmaru with her pristine appearance, brought a sigh of contentment to Kirio's lips. Her mouth slackened slightly, she gave a lazy wave in their direction before turning round to face them full on; tearing her gaze and blocking her ears to the vision and sounds coming from Shinji and her Lieutenant. Kyōraku was the first to greet her, offering a lopsided smile and a heavy pat on her back – strong enough for her to stumble forward with a wheeze – in his usual, jovial ways.

"Kirio-san, you have not come down for afternoon sake with me in too long," he breathed, the scent of his breath so polluted with the aroma of sake that it was enough to give Kirio a feeling of light headedness. She shook her head, rolling her eyes in unison with Lisa who was pushing up her glasses which had fallen (from embarrassment, she assumed) up the bridge of her nose.

"Hikifune Taichō has more important things to do with her time."

Hikifune nodded her head dutifully, a nervous laugh wrecked from her from Lisa impenetrable stare. What she said was far from the truth but it didn't seem right to antagonize the Lieutenant.

"But, Lisa-san, I would feel much better if you could call me Kirio-san, or Hikifune, or-"

"Excuse me, Hikifune Taichō," the librarian look-alike said curtly, bowing her head which made Kirio wonder whether she had taken in anything she had requested. With a brisk stride, she made her way over to her fellow vice-captain and Shinji, making it her interest to watch over the pair while they screamed and ripped at each other's limbs. When she was out of range, Kirio shuddered and leant towards Kyōraku despite the perfume of sake he wore.

"Lisa-san is very uptight! I thought her being your Lieutenant would have loosened her up by now."

Ignoring the discreet insult, Shunsui gave a sorrowful nod, understanding her confusion. "Lisa-chan is acting so cold to me!" he said with a hint of despair which Kirio could not interpret as either sarcasm or truthfulness. The pouting Captain tilted his face forward, shielding his eyes with his cheap hat. "This morning she yelled at me for having a drink of sake – I don't understand why she was so upset."

_One drink?_ Kirio thought skeptically, _More like a tankard._

Ukitake read her mind and voiced the accusation. "Perhaps because her Captain was drinking so early in the morning?" he said calmly, reiterating the phrase in hopes of his dear friend understanding that the reason for Lisa's anger was already imbedded within his own words. His cheerful facade never faltered; a youthful touch to his tired and aged features. The blush that crept up along his neck heightened the sense childlikeness that surrounded the old Captain.

"Morning, Hikifune," Ukitake said with an embarrassed wave, realising they had skipped the formalities he was so keen in pursuing. Kirio was happy to oblige.

"The same to you, Ukitake-dono," she responded with a broad smile, her admiration unveiled which had Shunsui staring between the two of them with a dejected pout. He clipped his hat upwards with a thrust of his long fingers.

"Kirio-san, how come I never get such a high honorific?" Shunsui gave an audible whine as Hikifune paced from his grasp, wandering through the doors of the Commander-General's headquarters with Ukitake in tow; sparing one cautious glance at Shinji before retiring to following the female Captain. The three of them did not get very far before Hikifune turned round, brow cocked as her eyes trailed along Shunsui's frame. Against the white-washed walls of the entrance, the Captain stood out like a sore-thumb; his straw hat and flamboyant garments more distracting than the handsome, indolent appearance of the Eighth Division' Captain. Her temple throbbed, her brow knitting at the centre when she finally tore her gaze away to continue her walk.

"Because Ukitake-dono does not dress in a woman's kimono or wear a hobo's hat," she told him bluntly, listening to him expel a breath in a heavy sigh.

"That's not very nice to say!" he grumbled. Even without looking, she could tell that he said it through a smile.

Lisa plucked her glasses from her nose and wiped a string of spittle from the lens. Shinji continued to cough and splutter as Hiyori pulled the corners of his lips upwards, using the blonde's back as a foothold as she exposed the entirety of his mouth.

"Give me a smile, dick-face," she yelled, her eyes ablaze when she felt Shinji's grip tighten over her hands, trying to get her to loosen her grip. When his hazel eyes focused on Lisa busily cleaning her glasses was when he decided to end their playtime. It was easy throwing the blonde over his shoulder, and even easier watching her small body roll a few yards down the pathway, out of sight.

"Yo, Lisa-chan!"

She glanced up, placing her spectacles back onto the bridge of her nose as if she would not be able to identify Shinji without it. She looked mildly agitated when she caught him running the back of his hand over his mouth, coating his arm and part of his haori with his own saliva. Moaning, she turned away, pushing past the Captain to where Hiyori had rolled. It was then did Shinji notice the soft resonance of his fellow comrades as they pushed deeper into headquarters; their voices already a muffled drone from the distance they had created between them.

"You should hurry up and catch them. You don't want to be the last one in," Lisa told him briskly. If she was a cat, Shinji knew that her hackles would be raised and her tongue poking between her lips in a hiss. He backed away knowingly and gave a strange trot in the direction of the other Captains, only turning when he was poised safely at the entrance. His blonde hair swished to one side, he gave a hollow groan at the vision of Lisa – in her lovely Shinigami attire – gliding to Hiyori, now alive and agitated.

"There goes," he said with a grimace like smile, "my first love."

* * *

"... all things aside, you look happy, Kirio-san," Ukitake finished, just as Shinji appeared behind them.

She gave a vigorous nod. "What's not to be happy about? Yoruichi-sama has grown into a fine Captain, Little Byakuya – I mean, Kuchiki-kun has just finished his education at the Academy, and Kisuke-kun has become the third seed in the 2nd Division," Kirio explained, listing all the accomplishments on her finger. She swooned like a fan girl, her eyes lit up with stars recalling how all her chicks were growing up into fine hens and roosters. It was a strange thought, but it continued to give her those warm, fuzzy feelings.

Ukitake laughed, sending a knowing look to Shunsui.

"You love children, ne, Kirio-san?" Shinji stated, giving a final brush of his sleeves which were littered with the Hiyori's footprints. "It's the only way you could deal with your brat, Lieutenant!"

Ukitake's thoughts were elsewhere and he backtracked.

"Kisuke-kun? You mean, Urahara Kisuke?"

"Hai, hai," Kirio said proudly.

Shunsui sounded keen on hearing more. "Ah, you mean the friend of Yoruichi-san? The boy genius?"

"Hai! He really is quite something," Kirio commented, gazing wistfully into the distance.  
Although she would never admit it, she harbored a secret soft-spot for the blonde. Even if she adored all the children she visited during her years, Urahara's triumph was the closest reminder to the obstacles she had to overcome in her youth. She was glad his hard work was finally paying off with his new promotion.

"If that's true you better guard your position as the Captain of the 12th Division," Shunsui teased.

Despite her high-spirits, the nod she gave was solemn. "I'm sure Yamamoto-dono would be glad to replace me with him."

The four Captains were silent for the remainder of their journey down the corridor, and it was only when they came to the final chamber and organized themselves respectively on either side did Shunsui speak his mind.

"Say, Kirio-san?" he murmured through an easy smile.

"Hmm?"

"Though Ukitake-san said you looked happy, I am guessing something is on your mind ne?" The sudden twitch of her brow told him he was right. Satisfied with his powers of observation, he focused his gaze forward and rocked on the balls of his feet while the gathered Captains waited for their general. He paused for an answer and soon, Kirio gave in.

"Damn your ability to notice every little thing," she said spitefully, unable to wipe the grin from her face, yet still unable to seem a little jollier. "I just have… a bad feeling about this meeting, s'all."

"Bad feeling, huh? I get those."

"It's nothing to worry about. I'm sure it's…"

"Nothing?" he finished with a chuckle.

She laughed with him.

But just like Shunsui, his face grew taught and he inclined his body towards her after what Kirio thought, was the beginning of a lighter chapter. For a drunk, happy-go-lucky bloke, there were always two sides to every character, it seemed and without his trademark smirk, Shunsui looked too serious to describe.

"A Captain's inklings are not something to ignore, you know."

Kirio gave a side long glace, wanting to argue her biased point further; nonetheless, with the arrival of the general, it would have to wait. Straightening, she exhaled heavily.

"I really hate meetings."


	5. Chapter 5

**S T O R Y : **Pendulous  
**C H A P T E R : **Chapter Five  
**R A T I N G : **K+ this chapter.  
**P A I R I N G S :** None (in this chapter)  
**S U M M A R Y :** Its been a couple of years since the last chapter. The pendulum is swinging as it always has, but all good things must come to an end.  
**D I S C L A I M E R : **I am not Tite Kubo, h'okay? Kirio is not my character either, but she is made up in my mind. Who knows who the real Kirio Hikifune is!?

As meetings were, they had to be progressive and undeniably mordant. The Captain-Commander did not leave room for a sliver of joy to enter his report on the progress made in the city, and rarely touched on occurrences that had been improved upon. Rather, they hovered on the ominous tasks that lay before them – of new improvements and situations which required their attention. It was endless, and with the booming authority boasting his commands with a crooked sceptre in hand, it became apparent to Kirio that this conference would lack a sanguine air as long as Yamamoto was head.

Shuffling was unbecoming, but Hikifune gave into the sway and bend of her knees after the first forty minutes or so, encouraged by Shinji whose large, inattentive brown eyes had begun to wander to the windows that lined the walls of the room. Intimidating high ceilings gave the newly elected Captain, Rose, an outlet for his discomfort. Obviously, despite his frilly fashion sense, he was uncomfortable in the new haori thrown over his shoulders as well as the company he had found himself with. Being between Love – who Hikifune was sure, had his eyes shut behind his glasses – and Kuchiki, whose lined face was taught and serious as ever would offer no looks of comfort to their new companion. Hikifune was sympathetic, for near to the Captain-Commander himself, Yoruichi was standing to attention. A young Captain, her worries and signs of disquiet were masked by her proud power stance, straight back and masculine posture. Her cropped hair – a sight which made Kirio growl with displeasure – shimmered mauve in the dark lighting of the room, and the altered uniform for the secret-corps was fitted to her muscular form underneath the white of her overthrow. The epitome of poise, one would assume, but even so, the insignificant twitch of her brow alerted Kirio to the fact that she was indeed, secretly thrilled to be attending the prestigious meeting.

'_Give it some time_,' she thought cynically '_soon you'll be wishing you never got the promotion to Captain_'.

Ukitake and Shunsui shared a secret smile – she could see it out of the corner of her eye, and could not help but turn her head to see the pair more clearly. The white haired Captain had twisted his locks into a slack pony which he threw over one shoulder; glossy and clean enough that it moulded into the fibres of his robe, barely visible at the tips. A toothy grin failed to leave his lips, and Kirio found herself smiling along with the two old fools until the notable increase of the Captain-Commander's voice became too harassing to ignore. Her face lined itself to the front where she could no longer partake in the joys of a silent joke. She had hoped the gesture would be enough, and was shocked when she could feel Yamamoto's gaze under the folds of his heavy lids, peering into her skull.

"Hikifune-Taichō, you will remain after this meeting," he called out mid-way through a sentence regarding the increase time spent on improving the Academy. As if his presence had a life of its own, the entire hall was gripped by the phrase and gave their silent looks of disapproval to Kirio – Shinji, of which found himself bending over towards her with a gaping mouth. Yamamoto continued while the subordinates addressed the new information with their probing glances. Kirio, like Kuchiki, kept her hardened gaze to the front, despite the temptation to search helplessly around the room for a warm face to look at. The task was made easier by the straw-hat-wearing Captain who gave a sly smile from under the ridge of his boater; the 'I told you your feelings were right' type of grin that had her knotting the insides of her stomach with anger and anxiety. The woman gripped her hands tightly under her furi and thought a silent prayer.

'_What the hell could he want with me, of all people_' she wondered for the remainder of the meeting, with a tooth sawing at her lips while nails bit into her skin.

* * *

For the last stretch, she had hoped for the pendulum to stop swinging and for time to make allowances for her – she did not want to be left in a room with the old man at any costs. She was a calm and peaceful person – naturally uninterested in becoming stressed and therefore, embedded with an ability to remain stoic in any situation she has come across as an adult. However, as Yamamoto clicked his staff into the marble flooring, and the Captains disbanded around her and sifted from their neat lines, she felt like a teenager once more, waiting for the results of a test, or expecting a harsh word from a senior. It had been so long ago and yet, the man forced her to relive her anxieties as if she had only been a student yesterday, and the painful memories of humiliation and suffering was still part of her everyday routine. She did well to disguise it, of course, but like Yoruichi, there was that speck of emotion threatening to burst out; shaking her entire form with the effort to remain contained. The task became harder as fewer footsteps echoed along the pathways, and the stream of light from open doors, finally ended in darkness and the cool snap of the lock. It was then, did Kirio gulp, and allow her gaze to turn to Yamamoto – discreetly, of course.

The commander had yet to make a move, and stood motionless, leaning on the staff indolently like a harmless old man waiting for company. The image did not remove Kirio's earlier fears, and quickly, she asserted herself to the Captain without knowing if it was her place or not to speak.

"I am sorry for interrupting your announcement, Captain-Commander," she said quietly, uncertain. She felt like a fool when his beady eyes flashed like two balls in the dim light, mockingly eyeing her as if she were a lowly attendant and not the renowned Captain she was known to be. It was not like she paid much interest in titles or the manners that were expected with her position, but the Captain reminded her of how large the gap in their power was by the lack of need to show the slightest concern in her being there. The effort was not necessary with someone so trivial. His look said it all, that she had to be stupid, naive or both, to consider that her earlier blunder was the reason for this private ensemble. Luckily, the arrogance that wafted off him like stench from rotten cheese fuelled her courage and resolve to remain composed. She no longer was a little girl. He did not have that same power over her. She cleared her throat and steadied her gaze to the front as a form of apology. This time she would wait.

Like she was on a pedestal – or in a cage, more like – Yamamoto studied Kirio with the perceptive distance that only years of knowing one's self-importance, could endow. He refused to move closer to the Captain, and did not go to any lengths to ease the discomfort that was apparent between them. Rather, he was silent, and allowed it to fester and grow like a disease, worsening relations to the point where even he had grown agitated with himself. He shook his head, and the rope of beard swung with him.

"I have called you here, for more important reasons than your own stupidity," he said harshly, his eyes gleaming when Kirio tightened her own grasp around her wrist. She straightened to attention and took the criticism without complaint. He gave a sharp nod of approval. "It is, a matter of great importance which I am having difficulty accepting – a matter which I have no control over."

Immediately, she thought of Central 46, and tweaked a brow in surprise. In all her years of service to the Gotei, never had the rulers of Soul Society shown individual interest in her – or any of the Captains in fact. A cold sweat broke out on her brow, and she followed Yamamoto's icy gaze – with all its perils – in hope of urging him onto the details of this conversation. Naturally, it did not work out as she had planned, and Yamajin turned his head away sharply, clicking his tongue in disgust.

He growled, "Disgraceful that they should override my authority," but thought better of his own complaint and stopped before he could immerse himself in sorrow and displeasure. Central 46 were unquestionable – omnipotent and even the great Yamamoto was becoming senile if he had hoped to undermine their rule. He was many things – vain, stubborn and rude – but not outlandish enough to go against the rules. After all, the rules were perhaps the only things that Yamamoto valued – that, and justice. Kirio smiled at his discontentment and waited.

"You do not deserve what they are offering you," he told her outright, shaking his beard and giving his staff another attention-seeking stab into the floor.

"You've said that of me concerning a lot of things, Captain-Commander," she replied. Her words were bold, but she did not have the resolve to back up her complaint with a piercing stare or antagonising stance. She was staring into the wall, tunnelling her hate into the frame of the window, and the even plane of the ceiling. Speaking out of line, still, was so painful for her to do that it required all her concentration to sound mildly convincing. "Since the academy, you have said that I was undeserving of everything I had, while Ukitake and Shunsui received all your favouritism." What did this get her? Nothing, and nowhere, nonetheless, it seeped out of her now when they were alone and the Captain would not be embarrassed by her half-arsed attempts at starting an argument. She could feel his surprise, as well as his frustration with her attitude.

"If I said you were undeserving than I was right," he told her, in a matter of fact voice. It was the end of the subject as far as he was concerned and he pushed forward with a new strip of information.

"You are to be, retired, Captain Hikifune," he said, slowly and clearly so the walls not dare distort his words with an echo.

Kirio stared at him wordlessly, emerald eyes wide and enlivened as she peered up at the man from where he stood, elevated by a foot or so of marble. The height made his dominance in their current topic all the more perceptible and overwhelming. She stumbled to find words, and raised a hand, half in shock, and half in defiance, but said nothing verbal to compliment her gesture. And what could one say? The news would shock anyone into being a mute. Kirio was more content to rack her brain for answers as to what she had done to deserve such punishment. Yamamoto gave her no time to lick her wounds or find her composure.

"I have been given word – not by Central 46 – but of Division Zero, of their need of your skill," Yamamoto told her in the same, cool and level voice.

"What?" she mouthed, wrinkling her brow in confusion, "There must be a mistake of some sort, I..."

Just as he had said, she felt undeserving. The information was too much to consider all at once. Her knees threatened to buckle under her feather-light weight, and her stomach was churning up a storm within her bowls. The Zero Division were the elite of the elite –warriors to a realm which had its own dimension. Kirio comforted herself with her own knowledge, buffering her conscience with thoughts and ideas which could prepare her for surprises the Captain sought to throw her way. The saliva in her mouth hardened over her lips and throat, and she swallowed repeatedly to ease away the problem. She wished she could do the same to everything she came up against.

"I told them of other Captains that would be more deserving of the honour, but they were adamant that you were the one they desired."

He was clear about his disproval, but it helped Kirio wrap her mind around the offer and perhaps, drove the woman to become more like the Captain the Zero Division would have wanted, even if she herself still believed she was unworthy. Showing off Yamamoto was more important that truly believing in this farce.

"Yamamoto, if you are so resolute on your own opinion, than you should tell them that I would fail at the tasks," she said, regaining some of her previous confidence.

He narrowed his eyes. "I have no control over their decision."

The corners of her lips twitched in hopes of smiling. She figured as much.

"And what if I, wish to refuse the offer?"

Yamamoto's 'noise' was a mix between a gruff laugh and a snort; a strange sound which came when the Captain hoped to assert some authority over her fate. It was as stupid to him as anything else Kirio had said to him in his time and it furthered his belief that she would fail at this duty.

"You cannot. You are to be 'retired' as soon as you are ready and given the keys to the other dimension."

She wanted to aggravate him with a jive at taking forever to be 'ready' to accept this honour, however, the gravity of the situation did not call for her childishness, despite how much she wished to be able to laugh at her own antics. Kirio swept back her mane with an open palm, unsure what more she could say to the general. It was in this silence did she really grasp how much he despised her – and how much she still admired him despite his evident dislike in the way she asserted herself. They would never get on, evidently, and there was nothing she could do to make him proud.  
Taking a heavy breath, he wrapped both hands over the bulbous tip of his staff, resting his weight on the mangled object while nodding to Kirio. She understood the command and gave a bow before turning on her heels and exiting the way she came. There was nothing more to say on the matter.

"Search for someone to take your place, Hikifune Taichō," he called to her just as her figure peaked out of the entrance of the main doors. "Make sure it is someone more capable than you."

_She was accepted into the academy along with Ukitake and Shunsui.  
They excelled at everything without trying.  
She tried, and managed.  
They finished in three years.  
She completed the entirety of the course as a normal student.  
They became members of a Gotei as soon as they left.  
She was idle for decades before anyone wanted her._

_She worked her way to the top.  
And still.  
He would never accept her._

* * *

"Uh, Hi-Hikifune Taichō?" Hiyori called uncertainly from the door.

Kirio glanced up from the floor; eyes squint into slits in order to see her lieutenant through the candlelight.  
Prepared for bed, the girl's hair was down by her shoulders, straight, soft and limp – everything Kirio's was not. She had obviously extracted herself from her quarters to check on the captain and now stood lethargically by the door frame, trying to manage the awkward movement of her hands while balancing on the balls of her small feet. It made her look young, vulnerable, everything Hiyori tried to mask with a badass exterior, and Kirio could not help but grin at the sight.

She beckoned her in with a finger, but the girl remained where she was.

"Is everything alright, Taichō?" she pressed, rubbing an eye and standing to attention like a drunk suddenly faced with cops.

Frowning, the captain looked away to stare at the table. Guilt racked her features until her only outlet became the rhythmic drumming of fingers along what looked like thousands of papers spilled across the desk, while the other hand, clenched fiercely around her infamous fan, threatened to splinter from her grip. It was fortunate that Hiyori was too tired to notice her anxiety: a sharp, and quick witted lieutenant would best the captain in her current state – so nervous that she had not even considered that her hours of pacing would have woken her second in command, and probably the rest of the 12th division. However, knowing that years of acquaintance would alert Hiyori to her distress forced Kirio to undertake her usual jovial tones.

"Nanda, Hiyori-chan? I'm fine, fine, _fine_," she said through a smile. Her grip on the fan loosened until it fell neatly into her lap, and like a nervous geisha she tittered away like a wanton actress before picking it up again. "I'm just tired s'all – paperwork is such a pain you know, and Yama-jin was so picky about the last handful I gave in – have I told you the story? Yes, yes, I must have –"

Hiyori stared blankly at the rambling woman, taking in only the odd verb when her brain could muster the strength. Apparently she was reiterating the story of Yama-jin about the occurrences that took part after the main segment of the captain's meeting. After the weak repetition of 'Yes, Captain, you've told me,' she no longer had the endurance to continue and fell back onto the door frame with a sigh. Her blood-shot eyes were sinking lower into the lid, the strain to keep them open becoming more unbearable, but she knew she could not leave. Not yet. Kirio was babbling away like a woman possessed, and while she may not have realised it, Hiyori was awake-enough to understand that something was bothering her.

While Kirio thumped the desk hard with her resolve – now giving a frightful interpretation of Yamamoto's fury – Hiyori slinked away from the entrance and slid the door close behind her. Her quiet footsteps were drowned by the Taichō's elegy, as well as the ruffle of sheets as Hiyori crept into the Captain's bed. She inhaled the scent of her leader's lavender soap and gave into her instincts.

"When you are ready," she called out, stopping the flow of Kirio's story, "I'll be here waiting."

Flushing a deep red, Kirio wanted to redeem herself, realising her performance lacked the lustre to persuade her comatose vice captain. Like an infant, it was that reflex – the one where you are so desperate to cover up your lies that you concoct something completely unreal, distinct from the previous tale that just did not make the cut. But seeing Hiyori curled up in a bed, leagues too big for her small frame gave her worries a sordid insignificance; a triviality which forced them into the deepest recesses of her mind. The calm was brief, beautiful, and she gave a sigh of appreciation for the comfort Hiyori offered. Her diligent and loyal nature struck her in the way that subdued, and frightened her. Biting her lower lip, she trembled at the cold which sprung from the chill down her spine. How could she ever tell Hiyori? How could she tell her vice-captain that she would abandon her for another post and shove her onto some greenhorn? Years of partnership would be destroyed by the order of a division she had no care for... a post she never desired.

Kirio cradled her head in her hand, groaning out her sorrows into the night. She wished for a moment she could confront Ukitake or Shusei with her problems, drink some warm sake and be done with the night – ending it with well earned indulgence. Nonetheless, she was too independent for their sympathy or support in a matter that was entirely her own. Yamamoto would want that of her – to crumble under the pressure of a life she had no experience with. Thinking of the old commander fuelled some sense of pride within her, a resolve that barricaded her irrational thoughts from her right state of mind. Already she felt sense returning to her and within minutes, her sights were again set on the papers rolled across her desk – the names of possible candidates scribbled on the parchment. Her temple throbbed at the prospect of work, yet, with Hiyori's soft snores coming from the bed, Kirio waded through the night, sifting through all the names of Shinigami that may become the new Captains of the 12th Division.


	6. Chapter 6

**S T O R Y : **Pendulous  
**C H A P T E R : **Chapter Six  
**R A T I N G : **K+ this chapter.  
**P A I R I N G S :** None (in this chapter)  
**S U M M A R Y :** Two weeks since Yamamoto's decision and Hikifune is in need of advice.  
**D I S C L A I M E R : **I am not Tite Kubo, h'okay? Kirio is not my character either, but she is made up in my mind. Who knows who the real Kirio Hikifune is!?

Outside Second Division Headquarters, they battled.

Members of the Secret Corps shot into the air with their infamous feline grace, sharp images cutting through space and time with a hiss of resistance clamouring behind these fast moving objects. They flashed stepped: bounding from one arch of their training grounds to another to test their distance, a handful kept in the corner, circling one lone fighter in the masochistic reincarnation of piggy in the middle. In their dire black suits, the pink and worn fractures of skin peaking from their ankles and wrists were harsh; contrasting like the morning sun that refereed the scene from above. Aptly made costumes were no more than just that in the light of day – tailored Halloween outfits which dampened the seriousness of their performance. Their reindeer games became no more than schoolyard festivities – extreme tag, Olympic sprints, with a little roughhouse wrestling to boot. Childish screams and shouts bounced off the curling walls of the square, quickly absorbed by the rush of wind from constant manoeuvre and the slap of two colliding fighters: a leg and a fist, hand against torso.

Kirio watched this intently, ignoring the press of time that weighed on her schedule. Pursed lips deepened the lines around her mouth, trying to maintain the soft murmurs and approving grunts as the show of strength progressed, a cool hand never living the cusp of her chin while she mused on facts beyond comprehension of an ordinary Shinigami; simple yet intricate details that antagonised her ominous thoughts. She moved forward with a listless grace, imposing her existence to the world with languid steps taking her along the path beneath the far wall. The barracks hovered portentously, flagged, vivid and empowering with the two Rhombus drawn savagely across the front of the building, the ceramic rooftop misted with the morning fog that had yet to be scorched by the heat. An intimidating building could only be matched by the hundred pairs of eyes that the Captain felt tracing her every move, marking, correcting and judging with an impertinent stare. With peripheral vision she saw them, the amalgamation of sound and movement drawn to a lethal halt around her, encapsulating everything in a silence which suffocated and oppressed life outside of their static fraction. Without the familiarity of their brutal clashes, and chorus of animalist grunts giving sense to the barren square, Kirio felt isolated, cornered and as nervous as a virgin. Such a large place was meant to contain the masses – to provoke the need for boisterous talk and the booming resonance of battle. Now, it was a stage filled with mutes, statues with eyes to serve the purpose of unnecessary staring.

Nonetheless, she kept walking as was expected of her, with no change of gait or composure to indicate her discomfiture. Quivering fingers were hitched into the satin tie of her obi, loosening the kimono from her frame until the bare, wan flesh of her upper chest was exposed to the zephyr, the caress of a gentle breeze evoking a sigh of satisfaction from her. Beads of sweat lining the ridge of her collar bone rolled over the crests of her ribs, flushed along her pores into an even spread as the wind hit her skin and painted a glossy sheen over the burnt flesh. Her unkempt appearance (features red with exhaustion, clothes arranged dismally over her hunched shoulders and curving spine) heighted the uneasiness which sprouted from her mindset like shoots bathed in a shower of water. Crowds had never affected her - the charge of captain assured that years of social interaction erase one's stage fright, and yet here she was, reaching up to hold the collar of her robe together despite the scorching heat, tensing under the mounting pressure of their gazes. It was if everyone could see through her – as if her brain was unravelled and on a platter for all to see. They all knew – they're all thinking she was hiding something; that she was abandoning her post as a Captain; her lieutenant, her friends and followers. The haori around her shoulders felt foreign for the first time in her career. She was undeserving of the white fabric that billowed against the wind like a cape worn by heroes, an accessory that bought her the admiration of Shinigami for the obstacles she overcame to sustain such a post. When she finally had to surrender that post, she knew that when the haori went, that respect and awe would dissolve into spite and malice. Lacing her fingers together, she cooled her worries with a sickly cough, the sound forcing the corps members to scamper like prey caught out in the open. It was in her mind. No one knew. Two weeks after Yamamoto's meeting there had not been a whisper of her promotion or retirement. Despite her fears, Hiyori remained loyal without the slightest inkling of her captain's predicament, the other Gotei leaders refusing to mention anything outside their spectrum of normality (Ukitake and his sweets, Shinji his music) much to Kirio's delight. However, for the paranoid, routine begins to feel forced; acted and Kirio found herself doubting the validity of Yamamoto's secrecy on the matter. She reiterated fabricated stories to ease her concerns, and preoccupied her vice-captain with a workload that was sure to keep her from listening to idle gossip. Today was the end of the superstitions – the sleepless nights. Today she would end her frightening silence, and be relieved of her Atlas duties by vomiting her poisonous secret to another.

Squinting into the sky, she eyed the Rhombus once more; the black barely pronounced from where she stood, craning her neck onto her shoulders to peer into the vertical wall. It took her a few seconds to gather herself, her legs soon dragging her into the shade of the entrance, up against the wooden planks of the door. Pressed up against it, she bent her hand awkwardly, pulling at the iron hoop to thump the knowledge of her existence into the occupants inside. A beat of silence followed before the squeak of the hinges.

"Kirio-san," Yoruichi said through a pant, a smile whisking the corner of her lips into her cheeks. "You're late. Your affinity for bad timing has struck gold this time – I just sent Kisuke on an assignment to the jailers."

Secretly pleased, Kirio opted for a hollow smile, hearing her first good news of the day.

"That's alright. You're the person I needed to speak with."

Yoruichi widened her eyes expectantly.

"Uh-oh."

* * *

Throwing back her head, Yoruichi downed the remainder of her cold tea, feeling it stretch along her gullet before landing in an empty stomach. She wiped a hand over her mouth appreciatively, savouring the bitter taste on her tongue while slamming the delicate china against the table top. Kirio flinched from the impact, her anxious jitter forcing the remainder of juice in her own cup to swirl along the lip, threatening to spill. She placed it alongside Yoruichi's as a precaution – obviously unable to hold her drink, literally.  
They had shared their pleasantries for the better part of an hour, skirting along the topic at hand with polite inquisitions into each other's lives with the protocol of strangers, the close of a topic followed by an awkward quiet one would expect from uncertain acquaintances. Playful banter was practically non-existent, any attempts initiating a preeminent bout of silence that would initially have both Kirio and Yoruichi chirping with laughter before discomfort stole the voice from their throats.

Tired of Kirio's ineptness to initiate their conversation, Yoruichi threw an arm over one knee, propelling her narrow torso forward so that she was drawn comfortably from the slouch of the cushion, prepared for whatever ground-breaking news Kirio would share with her.

"Alright Kirio-san," she began with a cattish grin, throwing her tongue over her lower lip as if she would find a remnant of tea along the breaks in her skin, "I've fed you, cooled you and catered to your need to avoid this conversation. I think it is time to get down to business, ne?" Her golden eyes flashed with resolve, the gleam of her hair overwhelming as it bounced with her movements. She inclined herself further into her knee, pressing her chest painfully against the bony protrusion until the pressure hindered her ability to breathe. It brought colour to her cheeks and moisture to her large, attentive eyes.

Kirio lacked that adolescent magnetism, and stared wearily at a girl who was celebrating the years of seemingly endless beauty; of looks that you cannot envision fading, or a personality that is too indomitable to fathom governing. Here, Kirio felt that she was losing the suppleness of youth, the short-lived talent to multitask without tiring and the appearance that came with the blossoming of adulthood. She had to supply her looks now, help them in areas that are unimaginable as a youngster and are difficult to accept when the early signs appear. The bags, the frizzled hair and dried skin were becoming harder and harder to avoid as the years crawled by, and sitting opposite Yoruichi emphasised this point.  
Tugging the fan from the folds of her kimono she batted it against her face (still tinged with a burn on the apple of each cheek), pressing her wispy locks from her face with a huff. The movement of her wrist was not well timed, and she faltered with a rhythm to maintain which did not betray her apprehension. If not kept in check, Kirio's fan would be doing shunpo from the speed.  
And she needed control, more than ever.

She averted her gaze to the table, eyeing the fractures in the wood, the splinters that cropped the edges of the artefact reminding her of the hairs on Shunsui's chin. The soothing thought loosened her tongue as much as any sake, and within moments, she expelled her secret in a fumble of words and brainless noises.

Fortunately, Yoruichi's expectancy had not waned, and she recovered and organised Kirio's information into details she could process to save the Captain the effort of reiterating her secret. When that time finally came, she fell back onto the cushion, releasing a breath she did not realise she had been holding.

"Zero division?" she murmured, brows creasing into semi-circles at the centre. She thumbed the dip of her chin, repeating the phrase mutely in hopes of encapsulating the gravity of situation as quick as possible. This thinking process required the absentminded scratch of her bare feet, followed by the heiress easing her muscles from their position with a languid stretch towards the back of the room, leaving Kirio to the festering tendency of her qualms. It was with a cat like growl did Yoruichi resume the discussion with her guest.

"Kirio, this is unbelievable. I've only been a captain a short while, but the zero division – they are like, the end aren't they?"

She was not quite sure what she meant by the term, but nodded solemnly. She understood 'end' – the end of a good run, the finish of one's great legacy; the eraser that would have her promoted under the hated balm of retirement. Would Yamamoto tell her vice-captain or her soon to be ex-squad? The proposal was unlikely, even to Kirio whose mind sought to salvage whatever hope she could find in her rat's maze of a brain. With teeth sawing at her lips, she voiced her concern.

"I don't quite understand how..."

"I know what you mean."

Kirio cocked a brow, half expectant, half dubious. "You do?"

Yoruichi scoffed and rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, if anyone was being promoted or retired, I thought Kuchiki would be the one to go."

"Ah, so you think that the old man would be more deserving of this place then, eh?" Kirio grumbled into her chest, closing her eyes to focus on the aggravated throb that came from the vein in her forehead. "Your encouragement is always welcome, Yoruichi," she added satirically, finding that with the girl's dismissal of her abilities – or so she read it – did spur the side of her that had been buried under the weight of her future assignment. A lopsided grin found its way to her lips, loosening them from the angry purse they had been for the duration of her stay.

"What I _meant_ was that I'm unsure how to deal with this... in terms of Hiyori-chan or my squadron. I have been their Captain for so long that it becomes instinct to worry about them. It cuts me that after all my years trying to look towards their best interests that it comes down to my abandonment of them. I can give no statement as to why I am retiring. I simply fade into the backdrop of history." Reaching for the cup she took a sorrowful gulp of the icy tea, grimacing as she did so. "I don't want to leave them, with nothing..." she said through the bitter taste that weighed heavily on her tongue; through the gorge in her throat which bobbed like an apple caught at sea. Green eyes took to Yoruichi's, meeting hers with a prolific intensity that startled the corps leader. She searched them for her determination, but found only a desperate and resolute longing to protect – not her herself, but her division, her family. The carefree, stoic Kirio had disbanded behind the moist, jade of her irises, the woman she had grown up with no longer detectable in this sentimental stare. Yoruichi felt as if she were peering into the mind of a stranger and fell into a slump. She knew what Kirio wanted, and saw that her observations were correct when she caught a glimmer of Kirio shining through this impersonator.

"You need help finding a suitable replacement, don't you?"

There was a brisk nod and Kirio settled into her seat, finding that little by little her fears were disintegrating.

"If I ask Ukitake-dono, the offer would be Kaien-kun and-"

"Kaien would be an excellent captain," Yoruichi intervened, catching the dismissive tone of Kirio's voice.

Giving a sigh, she waved the feline down, already drained of energy from the veracity of Yoruichi's complaint.

"He would never leave, you know this. I have no doubt in the world that he would make a fine captain, but not once as he accepted any of the recommendations made by the other Gotei to be promoted... and I respect him for that choice," she paused for a breath. "I only wish I could be so lucky."

Trying to steer Kirio from entering her deep depression once more, Yoruichi pressed her to continue.

"There is always Hiyori, you know. She is your vice and quite capable."

A chuckle broke from Kirio's lips, not to mock the suggestion, but in light of her remembrance of the petite lieutenant with a frightening temper. She glowed with maternal pride and ruffled her hair in contemplation, finally amused.

"I can't," she said laughing. "Hiyori does not have the temperament – yet – to succeed to Captain. She has the skills, but to be charged with the work load and the idiocy of people at times would destroy her. Even with Shinji guiding her she would have difficulty. One day, I am positive of her promotion, but for now she should enjoy the liberties of her childhood."

Then, the blockade of thoughts: both had seemingly hit a wall when it came to a successor. They sat cross legged and armed, head down and looks pensive. Sometimes one would look up, lips parting as if to suggest someone before the realisation dawned that something was amiss – and there was _always_ something. The process was repeated umpteen times before Kirio threw her arms up in disgust, her fan airborne for a second before it was caught by her sharp reactions.

"Each Captain would recommend their Lieutenant – Shunsui with Lisa, Ukitake and Kaien, and I am sure as hell that Kensei-kun would deliver Mashiro with a tankard of sake if that is what it took for me to accept her."

And she was right, Yoruichi noted. All the current options were either off limits or to be commended by captains who were too close to their vices to see the impracticality of their choice. However, it was with that thought process did a wave of ideas stimulate her mind, forcing her to address the problem of their search. She slapped a thigh with her enthusiasm, laughingly boisterously as if their trailing task had finally taken a toll on her sanity. Kirio tried to join in nervously, her cheeks fixed in place as she gave her own dismal chuckle.

"Uh, what are we laughing about, Yoruichi-sama?"

"I am an idiot!" she exclaimed and in a fit of movement, rose to her feet.

"I wouldn't go that far, Yoruichi."

"No – I am!" Her feral grin and wide eyes bore into Kirio's unnervingly. "Kisuke!"

An interlude of silence fell over the pair with Yoruichi standing arms outstretched by her sides while Kirio watched her questioningly from the floor, not following.

"Kisuke? What about him."

"As your replacement!"

Kirio pictured the blonde in her mind. She had not seen him now in over two years, thanks to the obligations of her work and his testing start since he entered the secret corps. It was difficult to see how she could have overlooked him however. News of Kisuke's genius never failed to grace the 'current topics' of civil conversation and Kirio had been sure to inquire into his wellbeing whenever Yamamoto called upon the captains for an assembly, where Yoruichi was sure to update her on his activities. Like all of the children she adopted into her frame of mind, Urahara's mention filled her with incalculable pride, but at the same time, there was a creeping feeling of apprehension at the concept of him succeeding her. It should have been instantaneous acceptance and yet, a sliver of her remained doubtful for reasons she could not place. Shunsui's advice reverted in her head, _"a Captain's inklings are not something to ignore, you know."_

She frowned openly, shaking her head at Yoruichi's vivid joy.

"He is only a third seat, Yoruichi-san. Brilliant he may be, there is a reason why promotions generally only come from Lieutenants to Captains."

"You are living in the past, Kirio-kun!" Yoruichi admonished, one hand slapped across her eyes as if she could not take Kirio's cynical expression. "Those rules are archaic, and you of all people would be the one to embrace this new ability for other members to show how talented they really are. It was a choice you did not have – why deny Kisuke his?"

Still, Kirio did not clinch onto this new way of thinking. It encouraged Yoruichi to carry on.

"Besides, Kisuke would be my Lieutenant if it was not for Soi-Fon."

"So why her over Kisuke – a boy you've known since childhood and whose powers you yourself shaped and defined?"

"You reasoning is unfounded, Kirio," she said glumly, annoyed that she had to explain herself on such an inconsequential matter.

"Regardless of what I know Kisuke to be, my personal affiliation will always be triumphed by the need to improve my division. We are the secret corps – our main weapon is a combination of kido and hakuda with the knowledge of our zanpakutou only fuelling these areas. Soi-Fon fills these categories perfectly, and as my protégé she will eventually become my successor. I have reared Kisuke in a way that caters to his skills."  
"He is an inventor. If it wasn't for me putting him in charge of the Correctional Force while prompting him to train with the rest of the soldiers to improve his stealth, he would be sneaking into your laboratory every chance he got to perform some research. His heart was never into the secret corps, and yet he is still the third seat of the Executive Militia."

The more she listened, the easier it became for Kirio to accept Yoruichi's proposal and subdue the hesitant ache inside of her. She knew Kisuke. While individual feelings should be absent, she needed to look at him on both a personal and profession level. For years she has watched him progress in a manner that she could liken to her own journey to the top, an ear to the ground ensuring that she would catch the gist of his latest inventions or theories. What Yoruichi told her true – Kisuke was a remarkable talent, and that his skills were aimed perfectly at her division.  
The princess continued to bombard her with an argument, despite the fact that Kirio was beyond listening and was now lounging effortlessly on her cushion with tea cup in hand, her anxieties past. It was in those moments bathing in this relief did she feel a change in the air – a spike of reiatsu which touched hers before vanishing. Grinning, she held the lip of the cup to her mouth, interrupting Yoruichi with a chuckle.

"You are right."

"And furthermore – what?"

"You are right," she repeated, nodding her head. "He should be given a chance."

Although uncertain of her change in character – especially before she could finish her objections – her diffidence did not stay long. Soon she was ear to ear grinning, clasping her hands into the pockets of her attire.

"But," Kirio began warningly, "I'll have to test him, both mentally and physically. Here, in one of the training grounds away from your troops. This is still covert operation."

"Of course," she said, trying to sound serious in spite of her silly grin. It only lasted for a moment before it was replaced by an angry snarl.

"Where the heck is he?"

"Whom, dear?"

"Kisuke..."

"What about him?"

"He should have been back by now..."

Lowering her head, Kirio disguised her amusement with a solemn facade.

"It'd be nice if he could hurry up so I could tell him," Yoruichi pouted.

"Oh, I think he has got the gist of it."

Yoruichi arched a brow, cynical of her words.

"What do you mean," she said.

"Still likes to hide behind doors, doesn't he."

"I suppose so, but I don't see how..."

Lifting her head, Kirio caught her look of surprise, watching as it morphed into disbelief before finally flushing with rage and embarrassment.

"He wouldn't dare," she whispered, but found herself walking past her quietly seated guest to the door that she had first entered.

Kirio did not turn to watch the scene, her eyes closed in contentment and her nimble fingers wrapped around the curve of her cup. She took a sip when the door was rammed open, resisting the urge to chuckle as the cool liquid – too bitter and strong from her liking – drizzled down her throat. She voiced an 'ah' of disgust, her remark lost to the jump in Yoruichi's reiatsu which threatened to exterminate everything in its radius. Kirio took to it like a duck does to water, and sullenly placed what was left of her drink onto the table and decided that it was fair to yell over Yoruichi's booming voice and the whimper of the poor man who knew he was going to get it.

"Yoruichi-sama, could you ask Kisuke to go get us some tea from Ukitake-dono?" She paused for a smile.

"This one's gone cold."


	7. Chapter 7

**S T O R Y : **Pendulous  
**C H A P T E R : **Chapter Seven  
**R A T I N G : **K+ this chapter.  
**P A I R I N G S :** None (in this chapter)  
**S U M M A R Y :** The race is on.  
**D I S C L A I M E R : **I am not Tite Kubo, h'okay? Kirio is not my character either, but she is made up in my mind. Who knows who the real Kirio Hikifune is!?

"Ah," Kirio breathed with a satisfied pucker of her lips, "now _that _is good tea." She peeked up at Kisuke apathetically, raising the cup in his honour, a smile plastered on her lips. "Ukitake keeps quality stuff."

Since his return from the 13th Division barracks (as punishment for another embarrassing failure at eavesdropping) Yoruichi had taken her leave without the stomach to tell Kisuke herself of his nomination in this promotional race, too red in the face and lacking the tenacity to pursue this topic with someone willing to huddle by a door to listen to one's conversation. Her anger had been violent, but brief and when the time came to take her leave, Kirio had a higher store of energy than the Amazonian goddess much to their combined surprise. Minutes after her departure and Kisuke's shameful arrival with an apologetic pocket filled with tea leaves, Kirio tracked Yoruichi's movements, sensing her bounding presence far from her station at the Second Division – near her home she supposed, where her team would train using her family grounds. There were only a few staying behind – simply for precaution measures – and Kirio gave silent thanks for their privacy.

Taking her time to prolong their engagement (to rearrange a multitude of lines that needed to be clarified) she stole a glance from under a veil of hair, picking the fractured image of him through slots in her fringe to recreate her vision of Urahara. What she pieced together was not a gangly teenager, with awkward long arms and an irregular shape, but rather a man which had seemingly repaired all earlier imperfections.  
He was older now. His face had lost some of its childlike ampleness and had turned to articulate a tolerant humour in replacement of his once purely innocent visage. Eyes, large and sloping at the corners were warm, unlike Yoruichi's in expression who's tended to observe one object at time while his retained distance; a habit of considering everything and everyone in a glance. They were welcoming, expressive and swirled with the teal colour Kirio had been enamoured with from the beginning. The nose, now prominent and hard fitting against his face was softened by the line of pink that started his lips, full and womanly in contrast to the gaunt cheeks and jawbone. She immediately thought of an éclair and muffled her laugher while she drank.

He did not share her happiness apparently, and placed his cup gently on the table, revealing the frown and furrows that marred his face.

"Is it true?" he asked, scared of his own voice or so it seemed from the way he whispered to her, uncertain of himself.

Kirio was to play coy until she bore the full grunt of his expression; beseeching, imploring and vulnerable when she looked up to face him. Her lips faltered; unable to form words that would force him to explain himself in more detail, something he evidently had trouble accepting. His eyes, sad eyes encompassed more emotion than she thought necessary, and like a reiatsu, it infected her with his melancholy. This was what she had feared with Hiyori, that her sorrow would engulf her in a sea of depression. She would have taken her anger any day over this type of misery.

She followed his gesture and placed her cup next to his, clinking it in the process.

"I am to be retired, yes," she said firmly, trying not to let his deepening frown unhinge her. It did of course, and within seconds she leant herself to the cause of rubbing his head like she used to do, threading her fingers through the cusps of his curls. Her affection was rewarded with a hateful smile, the ones you try so desperately to oppress in a sulk, and soon, Urahara was found pushing himself contentedly into the curve of her palm, a kitten bathing in the attention. She was glad that she was still able to touch him like this; Yoruichi would bite her if she was ever shown this type of haughty friendliness, likewise with Kukaku. It seemed the boys were the only ones who accepted such behaviour, though with Kaien it had been a long time since he was young enough to accept her ministrations. For the Captain and third-seat, it served as a relief and reconnected them after two years of separation.

"You've been busy, ne, Kisuke-kun?" she said gently, extracting her hand, still remaining close.

They sat together as if they had been friends for years, their hushed voices piecing through the quiet, their heads bowed towards none another that could remind one of those ancient roman statues, depicting two lovers ready to kiss. It did not carry that tone however; it was platonic – of a mother and son, the student and teacher, regardless of the proximity they kept. With their gentle coos of laughter and sweet smiles, you could interpret their demeanour as almost childlike, devoid of the tensions you would see from any adult situation. It was that candid freedom which suggested they hadn't the care in the world, their naivety shining through the basis of their union – purely enjoying each other's company for the levels of comfort (mother, teacher, family, _together_) they could provide.

But pleasantries were short lived. The problems at hand were invasive as they usually were, and Urahara could only bask in her warmth for so long before that creeping sensation of dread flocked into his limbs and drew him away from her kindness like a scorned child for the simple reason of not being one; now too old to be without a prospective on things.

Kirio understood and took no offense, though secretly she desired the closeness she kept with Urahara, just as she once had with Kaien and wished to have with Yoruichi. These notions were lost to the hurt expression that returned to Kisuke's face, his eyes turned pensively to the window to disguise this. Out of discomfort, Kirio took a hasty sip of her tea to disturb the quiet though it did nothing to lure Urahara from his decadent silence. His lips were pulled into a taught line, cheeks dimpled in the corners from the strain to contain what Kirio felt was a scientist's love to question and evaluate – never to accept. He crimpled his brow thoughtfully, and exhaled through his nose, bringing a skeletal hand to rub a hand along his neck. He wanted to say something. This was Urahara's way of containment, of self-preservation, but his gestures and mannerisms had become so memorable to the captain that she had little difficulty in interpreting the type of things weighing on his mind, infecting his tongue with the need to vocalise. Despite the opportunity to become leader of a squad, Kisuke's apprehension prevailed over his ambitious desire to succeed. Much like herself, he shied away from change beyond his power. With so many instruments at their disposal, a God-complex forms in their psyche, a deathly fear of obstacles that are unmoving, of time that is forever transient. The change was unwelcome, after the type of fluency and certainty that develops over years – the tools to a scientist's wellbeing. She knew that was what troubled him; to evaluate the wins and losses of this two-faced scandal. His dreams of becoming a captain could be realised, and yet the guise of centuries separating their experiences gave this position its ominous aura. It would be the end of familiarity when she left: the idol to admire, the teacher to teach and a void to fill which may never be filled. They both suffered from the hazards of promotion, nonetheless as his elder, she realised the need to suppress her anxieties – to set an example for him to follow. She could not disclose her fears.

"Arararara," she said in a breath, her lips pouting comically. She attracted his attention, but he was observing her rather than tending to Kirio's need to speak to him. Kisuke's face was still contorted with misery, and his puckering eyes alerted her to how they scanned her features, dropping along her neckline and focusing on the Shinigami outfit she wore, specifically the haori. Instinctively a hand went round to clutch the fabric round her throat, bringing it closer to her.

She did not know his thoughts then for they were many, nevertheless, his persistent stare irked her. Hikifune ruffled her furi in his face, scrunching her brow in distaste like a child confused.

"Chotto, Kisuke. Don't pull such a scary face."

For a second his eyes met hers, distant, perturbed, before they narrowed and became clear. He blinked back his surprise (as if awoken from a dream) and gave the shadow of a smile.

"Gomena, Hikifune Taichō." His voice was so convincing, forcing the title onto her as if he was throwing the chance of his promotion in her face. She was compelled to take the bait; to accept that she was the Captain, but the fatal error he made was speaking to her so formally. He never did that, even as a youngster and she were able to pull herself from his temptation with a firm shake of her head.

"Not for much longer, Kisuke. My role as Captain has passed."

"You'll always be..." he answered, and realising the sincerity of his voice, looked down out of embarrassment. "You'll always be a Captain."

Urahara's comment was touching. She wished to spout an amendment of apologises for simply considering him for this demanding role and yet, she betrayed her gentle nature with an apathetic visage.

"Urahara-san."

He glanced up.

"I came here for Yoruichi's opinion regarding my replacement. She suggested you and convinced me that you were capable of receiving this promotion."

There was a pause which Urahara took as a time to speak, but he was cut off quickly by her continuation.

"But I need more than Yoruichi's word on this and my affection for you." Finally, her voice softened and she craned her neck towards him, searching his face for signs of emotion. "You understand ne?"

He straightened to attention.

"What would you have me do, Kirio-san?"

"Fight me."

At that point in time, Urahara was reaching for his tea cup, only managing a sip by the time Kirio announced her proposal. He spat it back out in shock, eyes wide as saucers. With the back of his hand he wiped the dribble from his chin, too enraptured by this new idea to find his earlier stunt awkward.

"Come again?"

"Nanda, Kisuke?" she said, her cheeks taught with the urge to laugh, "You heard me."

The blonde in question stared at her dismally, his lower lip dropping from the minor haemorrhage going on in his brain thanks to Kirio's suggestion. While he had immense respect for the Captain the urge to slap her was overwhelming. Did she know who he was? Did she know who _she_ was? Hikifune had been a Captain before he was even omitted into this world, his deity from the first time he had learnt of the division and his sempai from the moment they met that one, faithful morning. Never in all his years did he think it would come to this – the final test as it were, that would erase the boundary between them as the apprentice and the master. His idolisation of Kirio made it difficult to see how anything could be accomplished in a battle between them when their power gap was far too vast to be covered. Urahara's discomfort was not erased when Kirio eased into a smile.

"Are you too good to fight an old lady like me?" she asked, feigning a hurt expression as she rose to her feet. Scrubbing down the wrinkles in her gown, it was then did Urahara catch sight of the discarded zanpakutou that had been hidden under the folds of her attire. Leaning down to pick it, it was then did he realise she was serious in her intent. The katana shielded within its long sheath looked harmless, the warn mahogany chipped and splintered, the hilt dark, with the black fabric handing from the tip. In her hands, it looked like a toy – from how carelessly she held it (the end scraping the ground), how impassive she was towards it. That broad smile was so untroubled, as if the burden of her soul reaper was nothing more than an ordinary sword. The complex of her attitude troubled and delighted him; even though he had modelled himself in a similar fashion.

She raised her sword at him, still grinning.

"Oi, Kisuke-san, do you think im too told to fight?"

He shook his head out of a mixture of fear and truthfulness. Long had Yoruichi warned him about Kirio's tendency to overreact about her age and he was not prepared to test the validity of her counsels by letting that comment slip.

Despite the delay in response, the woman smiled and dipped her head appreciatively, hand grasping her sword with renewed resolve.

"If you have no objections, then i think you should join me out in the field when you have prepared yourself." She glanced down at him, moving her gaze from his teal eyes to Benihime whose crimson sheath peaked from her mantel on the side of the room. She could feel it calling out to her sword; silent pleas that pinched her reiatsu and made the sword vibrate in her hand with the urge to fight. She silenced it by flexing her muscles around the hilt.

"Ja-ne, Kisuke-kun. Don't keep the elderly woman waiting, ne?"

With that she left, the lingering image of her face suddenly warped from time and space; an entire entity erased from the present. Nonetheless, it appeared within the time that he held his breath, another spike of reiatsu from outside the headquarters in the grounds. Her shunpo was not as fast as Yoruichi's – it didn't have that swiftness that was partial to the Goddess of Flash, but it was the distance that surprised him. She was gone longer than most into a void of absence, whereas most flash steppers bounded in and out of time and space – long enough for him to map a mental image of their footsteps whenever the peak into existence. She was outside with a step that would require two or three on his part – and he was a damn good shunpo artist if he did say so himself. Already, the notion brought a furrow to his brow, and sweat licking at his palms. Nonetheless, he rose to his feet. It had been too many years with Yoruichi-sama for him to become a yellow-belly, even if this fight was against his better judgement. Too many years had he succumb to training, too many years had he served in a regiment that was ill-suited to his talents? This was the chance of a lifetime.

He strode with purpose to his zanpakutou, and pulled her from the sheath that contained her. Without the casing, the sword glowed red in the light, a soft tint which gave the illusion of burning metal. It rasped, and called out to him eagerly. His frown deepened as a result.

"You want to cut her so badly?" he said, unsure of the thought himself. He was not sure what he wanted. Did he want to remain an apprentice forever? Sometimes, the idea did not seem too bad.

Even so he took Benihime in his hand and she gave a shrill of gratitude, never losing her potent crimson burn. He had a promise to keep, not only to himself and Yoruichi, but to Kirio. For all she had done...

Like her, he used shunpo, and felt the earth rocket beneath his feet in a swirl of colours and sounds. It took two steps – as he predicted – before he invaded the reiatsu of the other, dominating the square in a feeling that was not oppressive, but simply widespread, as if it was reaching out to touch every inch of the square that occupied him.

She looked different under the haze of the setting sun; like how she should have looked that first time they met. Her silhouette was strong, opaque and prominent like some lone tree on an even plane, the wisps of hair curling in the humid breeze, the haori billowing, intermingling with the black fabric of her Shinigami attire. Kirio's body was unmoving though, her sword lifted only slightly from the blades of grass. Uncovered from the hilt, the jagged edges of the blade gleamed subtle purple, hissing and whispering in unison with his own. They were becoming frantic, and both parties had to hold onto their swords out of fear of them lunging at one another without reserve.

Urahara could see despite all this, she was smiling through the dying sunlight.

He gave a groan.

"What have I gotten myself into."


	8. Chapter 8

**S T O R Y : **Pendulous  
**C H A P T E R : **Chapter Eight  
**R A T I N G : **K+ this chapter.  
**P A I R I N G S :** KirioxUrahara (platonic)  
**S U M M A R Y :** Goodbye.  
**D I S C L A I M E R : **I am not Tite Kubo, h'okay? Kirio is not my character either, but she is made up in my mind. Who knows who the real Kirio Hikifune is!?

Their swords met in a rush of wind and metal. Urahara threw a kick over the side, which missed but forced Hikifune to retire her assault and shoot back out of arm's reach. He followed her motion with less haste, pronouncing the gap between them. The smile was prominent on his face: he had seen her look of surprise, flashing in her eyes as clearly as the light did on the blades of their weapons.

"_Nanda_, Kisuke-kun?!" she said, exaggerated neck roll and all. The Captain raised her zanpakutou to scratch at her neck, careless but obviously irritated by something that Kisuke knew was less than trivial. "You shouldn't scare an old woman like that, with random kicks 'n crazy leg movements." Her voice was laced with a sense of dejection and awe which the boy had learned was part of Kirio's attempt to be jealous to disguise some form of immense pride. Like her, he took a relaxed pose, and ran a hand through his hair to slick it back with the sweat and grime that had perspired from only twenty minutes of training. Already, the mass of the sun had begun to dip into the horizon, and the torches surrounding the arena were lit in preparation for night. Urahara wondered how long they were to continue this friendly fire – for while he was already beginning to feel the remnants of bruises and sore muscles which awaited him for the following day, the 'heat' of battle had remained dormant, the adrenaline ceased to flow. Kirio was toying with him with constant attacks – attacks that were so precise and careful that he was able to counter them with seeming effortlessness. She was not trying to harm him, and this gave way to further his anxiety: did she think he was not capable? Was she holding back because he was unworthy? Was this all a tease – because if it was, he swore that he would go to Yoruichi and... and, cry like a little girl.

Kisuke was lucky he had reflexes like he did or Kirio would have sliced him in half with the length of her blade. In his train of thought he felt her reiatsu disappear; even saw the fake residue of herself she left in place as she flash stepped, but could not react out of pure naivety and the belief that she would leave him peacefully in contemplation. He was wrong, and paid the price with the full grunt of her force driving down upon his sword. What kept Benihime from breaking was the pure shock that reserved the dawn of his realisation at bay; the realisation that he could have died in that instant. Groaning with the effort to meet her might, he was shoved backwards like a novice, skidding along the ground as if friction had given up on him completely. Balance, however, was a beautiful thing, as was Kirio's temperament. In his weakened state, she could have hurled him into a wall with not so much as a glance. Nonetheless, she simply watched him from where she stood, waiting for him to regain his footing with a grin that was half smug, half amused.

"Don't think, Urahara," He thought she said, though the blood thrumming in his ears was deafening beyond control. "That I was going easy on you because you are weak, though I had to resort to some strength this time since you seemed perturbed by my lacklustre style; ya know, something to get your adrenaline flowin'." Oh, it was flowing all right, and he quaked with the energy that brimmed in his youthful muscles, multiplying like some caffeine high. He was probably shaking like a leaf by the time she strolled towards him; casual, unaffected and almost too innocent for him to accept. He held his sword up defensively, the words from his lips chocked with surprise.

"You complained about me throwing a kick?! You could have sliced me in half!"

She shrugged.

"Could of, may of, but didn't, ne? It's all good!"

"You crazy," he muttered under his breath, indignantly looking down to check how his zanpakutou faired. She had endured well, although as was expected a triangle of her and been notched into her side where Kirio had attacked. While he had supposed it was possible, the shock in his body continued to boil, his eyes wide as he thumbed the dip in the metal.

"Sorry, Kisuke-kun! But be grateful you were unprepared, aye?"

"What do you mean?"

She pointed her sword towards his, giving it such a gentle flick that the tip edged closer fluently, addressing him to listen. However what came from her mouth was not the uncertain whispers of his flamboyant friend, but a strangely monotone timbre that carried a wave of authority that tickled his ears with the necessity to take note and obey.

"Stop being scared, Urahara-san," she told him, eyes narrowed, "you look like you've encountered a Vasto Lord. It's just me. I'm your opponent. If you had seen me coming from a far, it seems plausible that Benihime would break from your lack of resolve."

Immediately, Urahara thought of Yoruichi, and all their time training. It was different with her and the other unit guards – they were familiar faces whose talents had progressed with his own. Even with Yoruichi it had been impossible for him to take her fighting seriously; he knew her like the back of his hand, wrestled with her since they were children and grew up to be part of the secret corps with him tagging along for the experience. Hikifune had always been a mentor, much less than a fighting instructor: a universe of practice and understanding keeping him reserved as the apprentice who was comfortable slinking in the shadows, with no real ambition to surpass. And out of the blue, she demands him to perform. He might as well be a porn star with no know-how told to stand in the headlights and do his business. It didn't matter how large his knob was – or in this case – his talent – if he was utterly unprepared for this endeavour. The pressure (the way she swayed unperturbed by the wind which stung his eyes, her long hair flocking in mid-air while his pressed into his forehead, carrying a terrible itch) gave him an angry resolve that he was unsure how to approach. He swiped Benihime across his chest, frowning deeply as her blade was stretched outwards Hikifune.

"It's not as easy as you think, Kirio-san," he retorted. Urahara was sure his voice would be tinged with disdain, but he found that his emotions welled into no more than a hurt tone which echoed earlier disappointments. "If I wanted this more perhaps it would be different. If you were someone else, it certainly would be."

"Ho?" Her tone was mocking, a false surprise that gave Kisuke a nervous edge. "So you are scared?"

Gritting his teeth, he growled a response that was barely audible above the dark that crept up on them.

"Slightly?" The comment quickly changed his mood, bringing laughter to his youthful features as he weighed his options, discovering more of himself as he considered how pointless fear was – as Yoruichi noted many a time – in these situations.  
She came again when she thought he was daydreaming, though he followed her shunpo with greater fluency this time round. She appeared behind him, and he side-stepped to avoid the slash of her downward thrust, sliding Benihime across his body so that it plunged into the billowing haze of her white haori, slimly missing. He had a feeling he drew back himself, preferring not to damage an overthrow that represented so much to his kind. He found her already composed, sword lowered again. She grinned and gave a side long glance towards him.

"You are not scared of me. You are scared of this," with that, she reached behind her, tugging her haori from her shoulders, sparing a quick look at the hem which he nearly severed. He caught the underside of it, the tinge of mauve that decorated the underbelly of the fabric, flashing in his eyes before it was flung in a heap on the grass – careless, meaningless and out of sight. With it, Kirio was as she was so many years ago – a peculiarly plain Shinigami sipping tea in the Shihoin manor one morning. Strangely, his heart rate seemed to slow, his brows lowered from a dullness that rushed into him. Pale arms were taught, skin flexed around the muscles as she lifted her katana in preparation for another attack. Urahara followed tut-suit, smiling coyly at the assaulter.

"You're scared of taking over. You don't want to leave your comfort zone, Kisuke-kun," she told him before running at him, initially swiping at his midriff before changing tactics and sending the tip of her sword to gorge the ground at his feet, throwing up debris and dust at the young Shinigami. "That sounds completely unlike the Kisuke, I know," Kirio added, watching at Urahara, shielded himself from her attack by drawing Benihime to slash out at the rocks, hovering in the air for a moment before landing behind her.

Their swords hummed with contentment, begging to be released into their shikai forms.

The droning metallic buzz from the blades was lost to Urahara who was smiling angelically. It was then did the world still, because he had so easily thrown away his guard, the signature of battle. Before he had even taken such a carefree stance, the Captain could see the agony in his eyes; a lack of resolve that would flair and dim like a flame against a wind that was painful even for her. Such indecision should never inhabit a person.

"Kirio-san," he said with the firmness that Kirio wished he would approach in battle. "I don't want this promotion – not yet."

The 12th Division Captain took a step back, sword dipped in surprise.

"Kis...uke?"

"Mah-mah, Hikifune Taichō – don't make such sad eyes at me," he beseeched, retreating from her gaze, those almond shaped spheres frowning at the corners as if they were heavy from tears. An immense sense of disappointment wafted from her to the point where he was forced to explain himself.

"It is simply, not my time. Someone else should be worthy of this promotion. Since knowing you-" The wince that she made was apparent enough to stop Urahara mid-sentence and he retracted back into his mind to find out what would cause such a response from her. He was told before he had time to even begin.

"Kisuke-kun, you don't really mean that do you? That knowing me prevents your succession?"

"Of course I do, though I would not want Yoruichi-san knowing this weakness of mine."

He gave a bashful smile as if this fact had few implications, while the captain stared long and hard in hopes of a reprisal from him. It was when he met her gaze with that wry grin did she feel mild tears sting her eyes, hardly noticeable in the light but painfully apparent to the old Taichō. It dawned on her with such swiftness that the darkness enveloped her mind with the taunting notion that it was all her fault – everything, was her fault. Watching him smile and laugh (oh, Kirio-san, you are so mean, she heard him say in the same voice as when he was a teenager) had been so heart-warming until this point; the point where she realised that she had babied him to the extent of him having no ambitions for a role he had been born to accept. Her mind reeled to Kaien to comfort herself, to appreciate how she had cuddled and squeezed him until he was old enough to shunpo from her grasping fingertips. He was a lieutenant now. For a moment it seemed sorted, that the blame was to be placed on Urahara before the image of Kukaku drifted into her mind. The shock of her appearance (because how could she not have realised?) forced her to clamp a hand over her mouth, her eyes squint. When the other was born, her motherly attention was transferred to her, smothering her in a self-indulgent love before it was transferred yet again to Ganju. They all had time to grow because there were others whom Kirio could dote and belittle, yet, with Urahara, he was the last chick to hatch – the one who had never sustained a long period without her notice. And this was the result; his utter loyalty.

"What have I done?" she breathed into her hand, shaking her head fiercely, but her conscience was quick to act. She thought of what YamaJin said before she searched for a replacement – what he mentioned. _No one must know_, reverberated in her mind.

Urahara took a step towards her out of concern, his face wrinkled with it.

"Kirio-san?"

Suddenly, she looked up, and wiped her face irately. Her expression was absent and Kisuke was distraught with this unusual deadpan look.

"Kisuke," she said through a sniffle, bringing herself to full height. "Don't drop your guard, not yet."

"Nanda, Hikifune Taichō! You scared me for a min..." The blonde attempted to be jovial, nonetheless, the unexpected weight of reiatsu that wafted from Kirio was too much for him to continue. He saw how she gathered herself, her eyes impassive, her stance, daunting. Purple flares of light danced round her frame like flames at a campfire, burning in her eyes and fluttering her clothes and hair. In all his life he had never seen Kirio so riled up, never felt her reiatsu quite so profoundly. She brought the sword in front of her and made a figure of eight, inscribing patterns in the sky.

"Before I go, Kisuke, there is something I need to show you, a final lesson from the teacher to the pupil."

"But, Kirio-san, I am not going to take the pos-"

"Oboeru, Baku." Calling her sword out, he watched as the weapon lengthened into a nodachi, far longer than he thought was suitable; listening to the ground as it cracked and faltered under the weight of spiritual pressure coming from a captain. Nonetheless, what caught his attention the most was the sadness that failed to leave her, the silent tears that were aglow with the mauve lighting. Her voice was too stable for one who was crying, however.

"Leaders have to remain stoic above all others, Kisuke. If they are to succeed, Captains must keep to their ways and ideas, even if no one follows them," she said, completely out of context before turning to her sword, gesturing to it with a hand almost empathetically.

"My shikai form," she told him, staring down the sharp blade, "Oboeru, to forget, awakens it." She paused, and reached up to touch the tears that hung from her lashes. "Do you know what it does?"

He shook his head in response.

Raising the tip of the sword, it seemed that he was about to be shown and he stood still like a child entranced – completely trustworthy that his teacher would never hurt him in the process. It was too much for Kirio to bear and she dropped her guard as rapidly as she had arranged it, leaving the nodachi on the ground almost as quickly. What Kisuke saw he had difficulty understanding: seeing the Captain Shunpo towards him in a flash before feeling her arms wrap around his waist, her face pressed into his chest. He looked down at the top of her head out of surprise before his breathing levelled and was subdued by the warmth of her touch. He held her tightly and petted her back, feeling tears leak onto his attire.

"What is wrong, Kirio-san! People might see and get ideas, ne?"

"I am sorry, Kisuke-kun."

"Eh? That's my line, Hikifune Taicho! Shouldn't I be the one apologising?"

Then he heard it, though he could do nothing to prevent the whispered words that tickled his ears and lulled him into a trance,

"Wasureru, Baku"

It struck him instantly, a purple radiance that left him in a limbo of time and space. While he expected himself to be destroyed by the cooing rush of sound that came from the sword, it seemed to hold him in this protective bubble where the world outside was moving, and he was kept apart from it. However, he could not move as Kirio stepped from him, her eyes already sore from tears. He heard her voice, monotonous and vague in the haze of this aerodrome of time. She was moving away, returning to her sword.

"Wasureru – to forget, is the defensive move of my Shikai. It replaces the memory of the victim with whatever imagery or thoughts I wish him to perceive. Its deception is unmatched, though I have never used it in this fashion before."

The words came to him, nonetheless, for Urahara to register what she was telling him and to accept what she meant to do was a far more daunting prospect. He felt a lethargy like one he had never experienced, come over him, washing through his limbs and numbing his thoughts like some narcotic drug. Already it was taking effect. From the moment the Captain raised her arms and twitched her fingers towards him, he was under her spell, feeling her sift through memories of him and her through the years they had known each other, slowly erasing the parts where she had had any valuable input into his development; keeping the sentiments and respect, but deforming the person into various characters, all of which were not her. The more she removed, the more wary he became, as if this lightening of the load was draining his life force from him. He would see these brief eclipses of happiness before they vanished – like the waft of a scent which you could remember from childhood bringing you to the brink of remembrance before vanishing. What were left were empty spaces which he knew should be filled with something substantial. Quickly, his eyes grew heavy, and he was lulled into a sleep, staring at a woman who was become more distant as time progressed. It was when he caught her crying; this strange woman who he was sure he had seen before, did he finally drift into unconsciousness.

Kirio stifled her cries. Captains do not sob; rather, their tears are silent and collective. As Urahara passed into the bleakness of sleep, did she release him from her enchantment, allowing that invisible enclosure that he felt, evaporate like some evanescent mist. She stared at him in silence. The spell dropped him to the ground in a heap of clothes and hair, his face turned to the side to allow him to breathe into the earth. The blades twitched with each gulp of air.

"I am sorry," she told him again, allowing the wet streaks to line her cheeks. "I am so sorry, Kisuke-kun; so sorry that you will not remember anything about me, this promotion, or the times we shared." The old woman gave a bow that was deep and remorseful, so much so that her back cracked from the strain of holding it like some surf board from where her hips begun.

Turning to leave, she was met eloquently with the appearance of Yoruichi who bounded into the arena without her cohort's knowledge of her whereabouts. The arrival was unexpected; however, Kirio treated the feline with the type of apathy she rarely showed even in dire situations. This was beyond grim, nevertheless, and the woman was unable to give into her joyful ways.

"Kirio," Yoruichi said in a gasp, looking round fearfully. "I felt your reiatsu peak a few moments ago! What-what happened here?" The Goddess of Flash was apparently out of breath, and from the long journey from her quarters, Kirio had a mild twinge of concern for her wellbeing. Yet, in the character of the royal, she was quick to notice Urahara and rushed past Kirio to her friend's side, propping him against the protrusion of her knee.

"You went all out against him, huh?" she exclaimed proudly, ignorant to Kirio's silence. "When I felt you release your Shikai I was worried there had been an invasion – I have only once touched upon your released form and that was decades ago. To think, Kisuke was able to force you to-"

"Forgive me, Yoruichi-hime."

"Eh? Nanda, Kirio – I told you not to call me by that title!"

"I did not fight him with my Shikai, Yoruichi."

She drew back, surprised, and looked closely to see that Kisuke was unharmed – utterly and purely unharmed save for the mud across his face and the touch of rouge to his cheeks. Naturally, a skilled combatant, she realised the damage was minimal, and her features darkened with worry.

"Kirio-san," she began slowly, golden eyes peering up at the woman as she collected her haori off the ground, tending to it lovingly by threading her fingers through the fabric, "What part of your Shikai did you use."

"Wasureru, the first act."

The gasp was audible over the wind.

"Kirio... what would you use that for? Did the Captain Commander say it was essential for you to erase part of his memory pertaining to the events of this evening? Is he not meant to know of his possible ascension?"

"It is not only that, which I erased." Kirio could not face her as she spoke. The fan within her kimono was tight and bit into the flesh of her chest with each laboured inhalation. Her entire body was worn and tired like some corpse as the implications of what she had done weighed down on both her mind and heart. She was on the brink of collapse and Yoruichi was demanding an explanation about what she had been forced to do – judging her with those decadent eyes. "I have removed from him the remaining obstacle stopping him from reaching his full potential." The Captain continued without pause,

"I will leave in the morning, Yoruichi. Please, continue as planned: Urahara is to be recommended on your behalf. He will obviously have to sit the test, but with your good mention of him, he is likely to succeed me. Also, with Hiyroi-"

"Enough," Yoruichi yelled. Years of training and social decorum made it impossible for the aristocrat to show the despondency she felt coursing through her; the anguish and confusion manifesting themselves as no more than angry words which were laced with an authorative tone. She insisted upon hearing the full story, and was receiving nothing to remedy her lack of knowledge. "You cannot leave without explaining this situation to me, Hikifune! You are saying you erased his memory – for what purpose! You could be arrested for the injuries you could have caused. You-"

Beneath her, the blonde groaned and coughed, open mouth, pressing himself into Yoruichi's toned stomach like a child reaching for warmth. The movement startled the purple haired vixen, and while Kirio was passive it was obvious she was curious enough to stay for his revival.

"Yoruichi," she stated, ambling towards the pair. It pained her to see the way the girl in question retreated from her as she leaned in, but the motion could not be helped. Rather, it allowed the Captain to go about her business, dropping to the ground the white Haori of the 12th division and the strange fan that she whisked from her undergarments. They were discarded by the Corps' Commander's feet. "Give them to the new Captain," Kirio whispered gently, her sallow eyes wrinkled with sadness; every line creased on her face from the grimace she pulled when she was forced to walk from the group.

"Kirio! Kirio!" Yoruichi continued, but to no avail, torn between staying with Kisuke and tracking down the Captain, "What have you done to him?"

"Yoruichi-san, you are so loud," came a grumble from Urahara, the scientist coming about with the type of elegance he was known for. His brazen yawn and lazy stretch juxtaposed to Yoruichi's shocked expression was comical to say the least and he noticed this immediately.

"You look terrified! Are you ill?"

"Urahara? Are you hurt?"

"Hurt? Why would I be hurt?"

"Do, do you remem- do you know where you are?"

"Not exactly. I thought I was running some errand – you wanted tea didn't you? I must have hit my head or something. Lord knows why I am lying in your lap, though I cannot complain."

He was fine; perfectly normal. Yoruichi looked towards the fading image of Kirio as she sauntered off into the distance, perplexed and still uncertain of Kisuke's condition. While his character was in order, the story he had delivered was off. Luckily, it was Urahara himself that filled in the blanks as Kirio took one last look at the pair, turning round to peer into their young faces before vanishing with a static gust of air. Kisuke sat up to attention, and rubbed his face like a man possessed, knocking Yoruichi's hands in the process.

"Ho'man, was that... Hikifune Taichō?! Crap! I was sleeping and she saw him just lying here! My idol! The one person I have wanted to meet since you told me about her that one morning, and I just blew it!"

Beside him, Yoruichi listened to him talk without interruption, staring audaciously at Urahara as he ranted away as he always did. Hikifune? Meet her? Everything did not add up and yet, it was so simple to figure out that her mind unravelled it as she gawped. _I have removed from him the remaining obstacle stopping him from reaching his full potential_ – this echoed in her thoughts like a broken record until tears welled in her ducts and her chest became tight with anxiety. In the pandemonium of her arrival she had failed to note the dry streaks that lined Kirio's face, or the depression that wafted from her like a stench. With Urahara rambling about his beloved Captain like a rabid fanboy she grew conscious of what possible reason the woman could have to perform such a dangerous procedure on a boy she cherished above all others.

Midway through her musing, Urahara turned to her and prodded the muscle of her arm for her attention. She was dismal, and reacted slowly to the assault.

"I wonder if she is a nice person. You've met her at meetings, ne, Yoruichi-san? Ne? Is she as wonderful as I perceive her to be?"  
Yoruichi regained her composure and coughed to clear the rattle of phlegm in her throat. "She's a great tutor, Urahara, and if you knew each other, I am sure that you'd love her to bits." It was difficult for her to keep a straight face, to not slap Kisuke upside the head for throwing away precious memories for the sake of being enslaved by the expectations of Captain. Nonetheless, this was Kirio's business and her decision and if Kirio had taught her anything, it was that leaders remained stoic above all others. That was the price of superiority. Instead, she raised herself from the ground, watching as her childhood friend collected the pieces Hikifune had left him without a hint of recognition; using the fan as she did, inspecting the haori with a biological interest that would have been beyond the 'real' Kisuke had he known this was from the Kirio he admired and adored.

"Let's go, Kisuke. Tomorrow, I'll try see if I can introduce you to Kirio," she told him, fully aware that it would be a promise she would never uphold.

---

"Are you sure you want to leave so soon?" Yamamoto asked, his brows raised and his eyes wide to watch his ex-pupil for any signs of hesitancy. She did not give into his crude inspection and stood to attention, staring off into the distance, beyond the four walls of the first division headquarters. The night was dark, the halls unlit and it was apparent from the simple attire the general adorned that he had been coaxed from his bed from Kirio's arrival. Nonetheless, there was no hostility in his voice. Rather, it was questioning.

"Have you told anyone of your retirement?"

"No one aside from Captain-Level Shinigami have been informed, Captain-Commander."

He grunted his approval.

"Good. And have you tied your loose ends here?"

The question called for a plain answer, and yet, Kirio chose to answer it in a way that was atypical to what was required. For some reason, it came from her like verbal diarrhoea – it could not be contained. Whatever the case, had Yamamoto chose to, he could have ended her rambling with a tap of his staff. Instead, he listened in silence.

"I left Shunsui my best sake; best of the best, spared no expense! I am sure he was awake to say thank you as I left. For Ukitake there are pieces of my fine china, great herbs to help with the cough and an assortment of tea leaves for his afternoon cups. I would have given him my paintings, nonetheless, I left them for Hiyori since she was always so fond of them. A letter has been donated to my Vice Captain to be read upon my departure so that at least she has been informed of my disappearance. The Shiba clan I have visited and managed to kiss all three of them tonight without a word of protest. Yoruichi has been giving instructions to be delivered to my division to maintain order and naturally, has received my gratitude and honour for knowing her personage as well as Hirako Shinji." The Captain took a break to breath, pausing to list the events of the evening on her fingers, marvelling at how much she had managed to accomplish while remembering and cherishing all the faces she had seen in a fit of nostalgia. Unexpectedly, she let out a laugh, but it was cold, detached and mournful. Everything about her seemed brimming with happiness and despair at the same time.  
"For Urahara, I gave him what I think he needed most, along with some of my possessions."

The pause that followed convinced Kirio that she had overstepped the limits, but patiently, Yamamoto eyed her once more, and strolled towards the hallway - one, she was meant to accompany him by.

"Are you quite done?" he said over his shoulder. While the tone was gruff and dismissive, she knew instinctively that he meant no ill will by the comment.

"I'm prepared to leave whenever the Captain Commander is ready."

He beckoned her with a one armed wave and she trailed behind him toot-suit down the winding corridor. The darkness made her pulse with adrenaline and for the first time that evening, she had felt the promise of a new and exciting adventure.

"But there is something I must ask," he grumbled without stopping.

"Yes?"

"Why did you erase all memories of you from the boy's mind – Urahara Kisuke?"

It was not unusual for the Commander to know these things, though the extent of his knowledge impressed her every time. Still, Kirio was unable to prepare a verbose stream of sentences to justify her means, at least from the perspective that she felt the commander could understand. Again, she spoke from the heart, and told him only of the benefit of her ministrations at the expense of her own happiness.

"It was mercy," she said clearly.

"Mercy?"

"Yes. So that he would have a clean slate – a place to work on which did not linger behind the vast shadow of another. I want him to reach his full potential and know the gratification of succession with no comparison."

No more words were spoken. Nothing more needed to be said, nothing further could be resolved. For the remainder of the journey she conjured up images in her head and played with sequences of time for amusement. Nevertheless, it was the thought of Urahara that brought a smile to her lips, and she held onto the image of his face for as long as she could, before the fickleness of thought replaced him.


	9. Chapter 9

**S T O R Y : **Pendulous  
**C H A P T E R : **Chapter Nine  
**R A T I N G : **K+ this chapter.  
**P A I R I N G S :** None  
**S U M M A R Y :** Diary!  
**D I S C L A I M E R : **I am not Tite Kubo writing a piece to find out if it popular so I can put it in my award-winning manga, Bleach. I am painful tearing into his world and abusing the characters - s'all. Yes, and Kirio is a CANON-character. I didn't make her up, really.  
Heck, for all I know if Kubo decides to bring her out she is probably a withered ol' hag. This is just putting some imagination into what has been touched on in the manga.

Urahara's Diary:

It's been a week since Yoruichi-san found me passed out on the grounds of the Second Division --- out of fatigue methinks. Since then, at lot has happened, perhaps a little too quickly for me to register. A few days after the incident, she demanded that I resign myself to her manor, leaving my duties at the Maggot's Nest to Soi Fon until she is convinced of my physical health. To be fair, I am a scientist and I realised quite rapidly that there is nothing wrong with me --- mentally or otherwise, I am fit as I have ever been. Well, maybe that is an exaggeration. There have been complications – mild ones! Nothing like an extra pair of arms, though the symptoms are troublesome. There are headaches – sometimes when I am wandering round certain areas of the house there are sharp, biting pains that race up my spine and racks my brain with a scolding heat. One instance was this morning: breakfast in the lounge of the manor, I turned to open the curtain, finding myself staring at the seat I left for longer than was necessary. I fancied I remembered someone sat there – hunched over, in fact. But, the image disbanded behind this irritating ache. At night, it comes to me in a wave of dreams and nightmares. I hear laughter sometimes, fixed to a face that doesn't quite fit; doesn't quite work. It hurts when I mull over such insignificant details and yet, like a self-indulgent misery I continue to fight what I think I know. Such is the life of scientist, perhaps. I wouldn't dream of telling Yoruichi-san however. The woman would skin me alive!

Next day:

Yoruichi-san came home early --- we had bentos for an evening dinner. She retired soon after, much unlike her character. She's been strange this entire week. I'd call it her 'womanly time', but she is less female than me, I feel, so it is unlikely that she could succumb to anything quite so basic. I followed her example and returned to my room. I had those dreams again. This time the pain wasn't so potent. It was a dull ache as I was thrown into some arena, a strange place where lavender and sake was all I could taste or smell. There was a woman there; sat with an arm slung over a bony knee, her hair loose, dark and unkempt like some overgrown forest. I couldn't see her face, just a lucid smile before my brain seized up and my world went dark. It's four in the morning, and in two hours I am to meet Yoruichi for training. Crap.

Later:

Something's wrong. A lot is wrong, actually. Midway through a fight, Yoruichi said that she was electing me for the position of 12th Division Captain. Oh, and also that Kirio Hikifune --- my gosh-darn idol --- has retired. Whatever that means! I hope I'll have the opportunity to meet her one day. I brought it up with Yoruichi --- okay, so I cried and whined about it until she finally acknowledged me with a thwack over my head --- but she said it was impossible. I would have pushed it to the back of my mind, but on this occasion I was chained to the subject. Obviously, for the sake of my limbs and preventing heart failure, I wasn't going to bring up the fact that she looked unhappy, almost miserable, if such a term could be used to describe my audacious, provocative friend.

Next day:

I stumbled into Yoruichi's closet. It was an accident, I swear (I was just snooping to see where she hid all the candies)! Either way, I found a clump of white clothing on the floor. I thought it was her haori, initially, but I caught sight of the 12th rhobus was on the back after I gathered the fabric in my arms. It smelt --- not badly. It smelt like skin and lavender and as creepy as this may sound, it was, pleasant – to the point of being relaxing. The mauve underside was also satisfying to study, until that strange ache returned. Yoruichi burst into the room just as I picked an eccentric looking fan from the floor – definitely one that belonged to a woman. That was the first time I had seen her angry – not the outlandish, wall-busting woman he recognised, but genuinely hurt. She glowered at me, snatching the robe and fan from my hand before placing them (with almost motherly attention) back into her closet. She told me that Captain-Commander made his decision – that I was Captain. At the time she said it with a straight face, with such indolence and aloofness that it was difficult to accept that this was my Yoruichi-san, let alone that I just had been promoted. But that fan... those clothes, why do I...?

Two Months:

Things are settled. I haven't had any headaches (save for the ones Hiyori gives me when she beats me over the head with her sandals). The division has helped me transfer all my works and papers to my new room at the 12th headquarters and already, I am beginning to see that my peers are growing accustomed to my promotion – some quicker than others. Hikifune must have been a great Captain to have Shinigami loyal enough to remain her subordinates after her retirement --- or promotion. I've tried to ask Yoruichi about her, nonetheless she is so busy rearing Soi Fon that weeks pass without us speaking. Hiyori is one of those characters that comes to mind when I think about this aforementioned fidelity; the reason for my first conviction that Hikifune must have been someone worth knowing. When I changed her old Captain's room – redecorating a room which had not been touched since she left – Hiyori screamed so loudly that half the division came rushing to find out the cause of her distress. She cried, hit, punched and did everything she could to smack me around, babbling on about some paintings. I wasn't daft enough to throw them away. After I took her to the Maggot's Nest, I returned them to her. I have never seen Hiyori cry, but then again, she didn't know I was watching when I saw her store the portraits in her room. Why are they so important to her?

PS: I lied about the headaches – I've had one. Hirako visited me last night and said this phrase – something about remaining stoic above all others, even if no one follows you. He said it was a phrase he picked up from Hikifune. I didn't think much of it until bedtime, when I was foolish enough to ponder on something which again, felt too familiar to suppress. I didn't have visions, or interpretations. It was simply the phrase repeated in my head like a broken record, always reaching the same point where I felt my memories seep through my fingertips when on the brink of discovery.

9 Years Later:

Ukitake and Shunsui took me out for breakfast. Hiyori had retired to her room after an exhausting night under Mayuri-kun and I decided it would be fair to enjoy myself. The morning begun well --- Ukitake prepared his infamous tea while the 8th Division Captain sipped on his sake – claiming he had a bad feeling and that Hikifune's sake continued to calm his nerves. It was later that morning that I was informed that there was something bubbling in the shadows of Soul Society --- Hirako said that Shinigami were disappearin'. I better investigate into this concept before more people are reported missing.

PS: It's been a long time –-- I've been busy! Don't judge me!

It's been forever since I have written; an age it seems and yet, I know not that long has passed since I finally retrieved my journal. But so much happens – almost as if time has been stretched into a cluster of day and night to fit in everything that has occurred. Aizen... the hollowification... his immense strength. My exile – Yoruichi's sacrifice. I'm just so tired... so... tired.

Urahara put down the pen and shovelled the journal under ropes of fabric and spare paper – anything Yoruichi was able to grab before the authorities invaded her home. She went back despite his protests, to gather some items which she felt were too important to leave behind.  
His slate-blue eyes were heavy, lined and could barely focus on the sight of the Shinigami that continued to line the dirt floor of the cave. Their faces were visible however; Hiyori's pouted lips, Shinji's gaping mouth. The sight of their unmasked features was as riveting as any scientific discovery. However, it had also taken its toll on his body. The twelve hours he slaved over their reinstatement had drained him of his reiatsu – and if Yamajin decided to burst onto the scene, he would have made a bed out of his haori rather than fight. Tessai was perched overlooking the development, but Kisuke could see his eyes were shut behind his glasses; the pole he held keeping his massive bulk from tumbling. The preparations had all been made for their departure; the gate's incantation set for their escape.

Nonetheless, as the blonde raised his sights to the exit, the desire in his eyes was unmistakeable, and as he threw over his reiatsu erasing robe, his desire became nonnegotiable.  
The zephyr was dainty --- a woman's touch to his damp fringe and moist brow. It greeted him like the fading darkness; the purple sky that was burned by the slight pink that hovered in the horizon. Roukongai remained shadowed in darkness, with only a few star-like lights twinkling in the inky darkness of the sector. He would miss it – miss Soul Society more than his position as a Captain, or his status as a genius inventor. Everything was here – his life, and he would have to give it up at the cost of someone else's misanthropy. The notion made him bite his tongue, the metallic taste of blood welling in his mouth as he felt someone shunpo behind him. He bit back a groan of pain as Yoruichi manifested herself behind him, her clothes slightly torn, her hair dishevelled. Obviously, she had been in a skirmish, but with her intact, there was no doubt that the people who found her were in no state to follow.

"Yoruichi-"

"Kisuke, you're outside? You're not meant to be lurking around. You are a convicted criminal." She was joking. From her catlike grin and shining eyes it was evident she saw the title to be no more than a farce, but secretly, he was stung by the comment. He laughed through his misery nonetheless, and was quick to change the subject.

"What have you got there?" he asked, pointing to a bundle of fabric in her hands. "I thought you went to get something valuable, Yoruichi-san."

"Nanda Kisuke? This is valuable." She unravelled the clothing, catching a slim accessory before it had time to tumble to the ground. It was a haori – a white, Captain's haori which had darkened from years of being crimpled in a closet. It wasn't his – his was in the cave. Quirking a brow, Yoruichi answered him before he had the chance to question.

"It's Kirio Hikifune's."

"Why... why?"

"She wanted you to have it?"

"Me?"

Yoruichi looked surprised by his comment before something that could only be coined as remembrance took hold and forced her rephrase her words.

"She wanted the next Captain to have some of her things."

Wordlessly, she handed over the aged Haori and fan --- one that felt instinctively like an old friend to him --- and watched as she shunpoed back into the confines of their training hill. Alone, he threaded his fingers through the imperfections of the overthrow, to the fraying ends that were dipped in dust and muck. Its uncleanness made it human; made it feel warn and lived in. Character... it had character. Strangely, it gave him comfort – some innate belief that this person was close to him, with the paradoxical knowledge that he never met her in life. Perhaps it was the evidence that she had existed – that this was the idol he had never had the opportunity to meet, congratulating him on his succession to her old thrown. And as he flicked the fan open and batted himself with wind as he thought (as he _knew_) she would, he felt part of his misery fade into his unsettled memories.

From the outskirts of the hill, Yoruichi watched him a sad smile, recognising that mischievous flick of the wrist, the way the fan seemed to work for Urahara as much as its predecessor. Content she turned to the heavens, holding back her short hair.

"I wonder how you are, Kirio Hikifune."


	10. Chapter 10

**S T O R Y : **Pendulous  
**C H A P T E R : **Chapter Ten  
**R A T I N G : **K+ this chapter.  
**P A I R I N G S :** None  
**N O T E S :** THE END! XD Ill write a spin off soon, me thinks! (: I feel like some Hirako and Hiyori! Also have another Kirio oneshot in mind too!  
**D I S C L A I M E R : **I am not Tite Kubo writing a piece to find out if it popular so I can put it in my award-winning manga, Bleach. I am painful tearing into his world and abusing the characters - s'all. Yes, and Kirio is a CANON-character. I didn't make her up, really.  
Heck, for all I know if Kubo decides to bring her out she is probably a withered ol' hag. This is just putting some imagination into what has been touched on in the manga.

The woman sneezed louder than her companions would have expected, interesting to the point where they looked up from their cards to stare at her, observing the way she rubbed her red nose indignantly.

"You getting sick?"

She looked up sympathetically, giving the man a Cheshire grin.

"Haha, of course not! I just have a feeling that a beautiful woman is talking about me right now."

Lowering her hand onto the table, she listened to the groans of her competition as they took careful note of her Straight Flush. Kirio Hikifune had won again.

Casting her eyes to the dark ceiling above her, she closed them in satisfaction.

_I'm fine_, she thought. _I'm fine_.


	11. Hello again!

Just a little announcement to anyone still keeping up with the Bleach series – THE ZERO DIVISION IS FINALLY HERE! That's awesome. I finally get to see how Kirio was really pictured – I think she's the old woman from the group shot!

Hope everyone's doing well.


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